


The Law of Smoke

by joongz



Series: The Dark Affairs [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: 1890s, Angst and Feels, Blood and Violence, Demons, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Fights, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, No need to have knowledge of the Shadowhunter world tbh, POV Multiple, Past and Future POVs, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Shadowhunters - Freeform, Shitty Fathers, Slow Burn, Vampires, Werewolves, plot heavy, shadowhunters au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-21 21:20:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 130,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22970452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joongz/pseuds/joongz
Summary: A strange demonic presence attacks the International Institute of New York in the year of 1899. As a result numerous Shadowhunters come to the aid of the Institute. One of them happens to be Seonghwa, who is, in Yeosang’s definitely non biased opinion, a stupid schmuck.In 2019, after Wooyoung spends nights awake and praying for something interesting to finally occur, the Institute of Seoul becomes the new home for a group of Shadowhunters. In between them is Choi San, who immediately attracts Wooyoung's attention for his odd appearance and mysterious personality.(Or, an Ateez Shadowhunters AU!)
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi, Kang Yeosang/Park Seonghwa
Series: The Dark Affairs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1650769
Comments: 134
Kudos: 195





	1. Prologue: A New War

**Author's Note:**

> Back in November I was debating whether to write a Shadowhunter AU or a Hogwarts AU, choosing the latter. I didn’t think I’d end up writing both of them lmao 
> 
> Before we start this adventure a couple of important notes:
> 
> \- This is all fiction, please do not take it seriously. This isn’t a reflection of how I see these people or how they necessarily behave irl!!  
> \- This fic is set over two time spans, one is 1899 and the other 2019. For the 1899 setting please know that there will be mentions of period typical homophobia and sexism (also I tried to introduce 1890's slang and speech, but it might not always be 100% accurate sdhsj sorry about that).  
> \- The storyline for 1899 plays in New York, where I have never been to in my life. All the locations I use are based off of Google Maps, if there are any inaccuracies please let me know!! Same goes for the 2019 storyline, which is set in Seoul, I haven’t been there either!!  
> \- I did take liberties for plot reasons, so if you are a hardcore Shadowhunter fan, I apologize :| I tried to remember all rules of this universe and inform myself thru the wiki page but yeah..... just a heads up!!  
> \- There are some sentences in Latin, which I don’t speak, like at all, so I used google translate. If there are inaccuracies please let me know!!  
> With that out of the way, happy reading!!! ^^

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ _Malum erit vobis_ ,” Mingi read, quietly. “Evil will be upon you.”
> 
> “Lovely,” muttered Yeosang, walking into the alley. 

**New York, October 21st 1899**

The waters of the Upper Bay were dark, but in the moonlight Kang Yeosang could see the little waves riding to the bay of Red Hook, an icy cold wind passed through the streets of Brooklyn. 

The Shadowhunter was clutching a seraph blade tightly in his gloved hand; he had foregone his bow and arrows that night, which he regretted now. He felt more exposed with just a blade. His best friend and fellow Shadowhunter, Song Mingi, was a few steps ahead of him, his witchlight—which was a flat and smooth stone, cool to the touch, that emitted a white pure light if in the hands of a Nephilim—was casting eerie shadows onto the buildings surrounding them. 

They had gotten information that there was strange demonic activity going on near Sunset Park, but so far they hadn’t encountered another living soul. Not even drunk mundanes or prostitutes that often lingered around the bay areas around these forlorn hours of the night.

It was a two man mission and even if Yeosang wasn’t Mingi’s _parabatai_ —a brotherly bond inside and outside the battlefield, the connection in between _parabatai_ was incomparable to anything known—they read each other perfectly and fought in sync. After so many years of knowing one another it was expected.

“Yeo,” Mingi called out, quietly, the wind carrying his voice over to Yeosang. “I think I have found something,” he said, and pushed up his spectacles as he was staring at something between two houses. The buildings grew tall into the night’s sky, a narrow alley stretched out between them, towards the Carroll Gardens.

Yeosang jogged over to him, about to ask what it was, but his unspoken question got answered the moment he saw something written in latin on the wall of the left house. It appeared to be blood, but Yeosang could not tell if it was human or not. 

He swallowed, whispered the name of his blade so it would light up, and held it up against the words.

“ _Malum erit vobis_ ,” Mingi read, quietly. “Evil will be upon you.”

“Lovely,” muttered Yeosang, walking into the alley. 

There wasn’t much to it at first glance, but when Mingi followed, his witchlight uncovered the shadows in the corners, and Yeosang spotted a hidden door by the end of the alley. There was moss covering most of it, growing upwards to the first floor of the building. Yeosang reached out his hand, and grabbed the door’s knob. He tried to twist it, but it didn’t budge. With a sigh he drew back, searching his belt for his stele—an important tool to a Shadowhunter, they were made out of the heavenly metal _adamas_ and served to draw their runes.

With a swift movement he drew the unlocking rune onto the door. It clicked open seconds later.

“Into Hell we go,” he mumbled, pushing the door open with his gloved hand.

The word Hell wasn’t exactly appropriate to describe what they found inside. Much to the Shadowhunters’ surprise they were greeted by a well lit corridor, the walls were covered with wallpapers, beautiful motifs of flowers and colorful birds stretched out as the corridor went far. A chandelier hung at the center of it, moving as the breeze from outside passed through. Mingi closed the door quietly. Both Shadowhunters had their seraph blades drawn out and proceeded cautiously, their feet making no noise due to one of the many runes swirling their bodies.

There were several doors lining the corridor, reading labels such as: drawing room, kitchen, library, private chambers, study… They stopped in front of the latter, exchanging a look.

“You go in first,” whispered Mingi. For a Shadowhunter Mingi could often be easily frightened or scared.

“Sure.” He grabbed the knob and twisted the door open.

It was a success as they found a young woman standing in the middle of it, she was leaning over a table. She murmured something under her breath, her hands firmly on a silver goblet. There were scrolls scattered on the table and on the floor near it. Candles lined the left and right walls of the room, the flames dancing and casting eerie shadows all around. Two corpses lay on the floor near the woman, seemingly drained of blood—but it wasn’t the work of a vampire.

“By the Angel,” Yeosang muttered, grimacing at the sight of the dead bodies.

The warlock swirled around, her chanting came to a stop. She dropped the goblet, the scarlet liquid inside splashed all over her and the table. It was blood, most likely from the two mundanes.

“ _Nephilim_ ,” she hissed in palpable distaste.

“Yes,” Yeosang said. He grinned dangerously as he edged forward, swinging his blade in a method that should make her feel threatened. The warlock merely eyed his weapon before her gaze returned to Yeosang’s eyes.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” she asked, recomposing herself from the shock fairly quickly. She quirked one eyebrow up, cleaning her blood smeared hands on her dark purple dress. “You are not so bad on the eyes, I must say,” she complimented Yeosang, then she looked at Mingi, who was still by the door. “Your companion too.”

Yeosang squinted his eyes. “Pleasantries won’t get you out of this, warlock.”

“Of course they won’t. What a shame you young Shadowhunters don’t have the same loose morals of your ancestors…” She smirked when she saw Yeosang’s bothered grimace. The implications of her words made him uncomfortable. It wasn’t news that some Shadowhunters got involved with Downworlders, most of the time it got ignored by the Council as they were too proud to admit that, or the Shadowhunters in question were banned.

“Enough chit-chat,” Yeosang said, pointing the tip of his blade towards the warlock. “We have come to stop this madness.”

The warlock’s confident air faltered at those words and fear grew in her eyes. “Y-You know…?”

“We know that you have been slaughtering mundanes,” Mingi spoke up, finally stepping into the room. His eyes were anywhere but the corpses.

“Oh, that,” she said slowly. Her grin returned. “Yes. They were lowlives. Living on the streets in misery. I would say I did them a favor by taking their lives for a bigger purpose.”

Yeosang gritted his teeth. “You killed innocent people!”

The warlock shrugged, clearly unbothered by this statement. “You Nephilim have killed enough innocent Downworlders. Even some mundanes have killed innocent warlocks in the past, burning them on stakes. I think this repayment is just.”

“The only just thing tonight will be your death,” Yeosang snarled, moving forward quickly. He swung his seraph blade, aiming at her hands, but she was quicker than him, jumping to the side. She moved her hands in front of herself, blue sparks flying from her fingertips. 

“You will not stop us!” she yelled, but it was in vain. They were two, and she was alone. Mingi hauled himself at her, pushing his blade into her chest, twisting it. He closed his eyes, but Yeosang did witness the realization in the warlock’s eyes, that she was going to die. Quick as a vampire she moved her hands in the air, making the many scrolls around the room burst into flames.

“No!” Yeosang cried, stepping forward, but it was useless. They no longer were legible.

“Evil will be… upon you,” the warlock whispered as life faded out of her, though she still possessed the energy to grin haughtily up at Yeosang.

“Yes, we know. We read those lovely words when we got here.”

She chuckled cruelly. “You don’t know anything, N-Nephilim.” Blood spurted over her lips, trailing down her chin. “A-All of you… will perish. Evil will come.” Once the warlock’s last breath left her mouth Mingi drew back, removing the blade out of her body.

The taller Shadowhunter stumbled backwards with staggering breaths. His weapon clattered onto the floor and its blade’s light faded into nothingness. Yeosang sighed sympathetically as he approached his friend, he put a soothing hand on Mingi’s shoulder as he threw up onto the floor.

“There, there,” Yeosang muttered, glancing around the private chamber to see if there were any clues, but aside from the endless scrolls, that were now reduced to ashes, and the two dead bodies there was nothing. They would have to come back in the morning again with more Shadowhunters to search the entire house. “We should probably leave,” he said. “I do not want to spend any more time here.”

“Yes,” Mingi agreed easily. “I need some strong shine.”

Yeosang chuckled, nodding his head.

On their way out, Yeosang pushed open the other doors of the house, but there was nothing too suspicious hiding behind them. He was distrustful by nature and always suspected that danger lingered around every corner. As they left the building, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that something truly horrible was nearing. The feeling was stronger than it had been any other time.

**~*~**

**New York, October 23rd 1899**

Yeosang played with his top-hat, his lips pressed together tightly as his eyes flitted over the ball room. He sighed disdainfully when he spotted his cousin, Kang Mina, in the far distance, chatting with her _parabatai_ , Jung Yunho. That could only mean that the stranger who had his back turned on Yeosang was none other than Park Seonghwa, his foe and the most vexing person Yeosang had the displeasure to ever meet..

He cursed the Angel quietly.

If the annual International Feast—which existed to fortify the relations between the Institutes around the world—would have taken place in any other of the Institutes, he might have found a possibility to dodge out of this social event, but it so happened that this year everyone had gotten invited to New York. Which meant that Bae Irene, the Head of the International Institute of New York, had forced him to pull out his nicest suit and polish his appearance to look moderately acceptable. 

“Put on that devilish smile of yours, Yeo, I do not care! But you _must assist_ , those are the rules,” she had scolded him when he had tried to object. “You know how important this is to me, especially as the first female Head of the Institute, I’m begging of you to not cause any altercations.”

“But if—”

“No ‘buts’, _Yeosang_.” She had used his whole name, which she rarely did. “For once in your chaos driven life, do as I say! Please! For all I care, you can tear Mr Park to shreds once the event is over, but for the duration of the banquet and ball, you are to behave exceptionally! Do you hear me?” Yeosang had just hummed in agreement, angrily stomping out of the training room. 

Not even Mingi’s funny—and drunken—commentary could cheer him up this time.

“Ah, come on, Yeo, don't look so dreadful!” Mingi bemoaned, handing him a flute of champagne. The lights falling from the chandeliers reflected on the golden frame of his spectacles, accentuated by the dark red hair that framed his face. He wore a teasing grin. “You are scaring off all the ladies!”

Yeosang pulled a grimace. Certainly, two young ladies from the Institute of Cairo were scurrying off, giggling as they shot them lingering gazes. Yeosang shifted uncomfortably, sipping from his drink.

“I cannot believe Irene made me attend this! It’s terrible!” he complained, gesturing wildly, nearly punching a young Shadowhunter in their face.

“You’re just saying that because you do not know how to dance!” Mingi countered cheerfully, grinning as he shimmied his hips slightly to the new song that had begun playing. Something upbeat that was frowned upon by the older Shadowhunters in the room. “Ah, do you hear that? The exciting and playful tunes from San Francisco!”

Yeosang groaned. “Ugh, stop,” he asked his friend _,_ who kept up his stupid act for a couple more seconds until he came back to join Yeosang.

“You are most boring tonight, Yeosang,” Mingi bemoaned. “Boring, boring, little Kang,” he chimed.

The nickname stung, leaving the drink in Yeosang’s mouth to taste rather bitter than sweet. Only one person called him that, and it was to irritate the Hell out of Yeosang.

“Do _not_ call me that, Mingi. And I am _angry_ ,” he insisted. “There is a difference!”

Mingi looked positively guilty at that. He pressed his lips together in embarrassment.

“Why don’t we find you a nice girl so you can get involved with her and forget that you dislike this night so much?” Mingi wondered, his gaze already moving around the room. “How about, uh, Joy Park?”

Yeosang choked on his drink, widening his eyes. “Mingi! Are you out of your mind? She’s much older than I am!”

Mingi shrugged. “She is still unmarried,” he pointed out, but Yeosang kept shaking his head. Mingi rolled his eyes. “ _Fine._ What about one of the Jung sisters? Jung Jinsoul”

“Jung Jinsoul?!” he hissed under his breath as not to draw attention to them. “She is Yunho’s cousin, a hard pass,” Yeosang replied, his eyes wandering again towards the group he had disdainfully eyed earlier. Mina was still engaged in a conversation with her _parabatai_ , but Seonghwa was gone now. Yeosang spotted him in the crowd dancing with a girl their age, she had a dark complexion, beautiful raven black hair cascading over her back.

“Yunho really is not _that_ bad,” Mingi said then. “I had a rather pleasant conversation with him during the banquet. He did call me a fool, though.”

“I wonder why,” Yeosang responded sarcastically, looking away from Seonghwa. 

Mingi only laughed.

“You cannot hurt me, I know what I am and what I am not. I acknowledge that I can be a fool from time to time.”

“The question is, when are you not.”

Mingi clutched his chest dramatically. “Oh, you wound me, Yeosang.”

The shorter Shadowhunter rolled his eyes, and finished his drink quickly so he could fetch another one. If he was going to survive the night, there was no need in doing so while sober. He watched the ball room tiredly, the dancing bodies took up most of the space, whereas the little crowd around the dancing area was thinning out. The more the guests drank, the more they were prone to end up with a partner in the crowd, swinging around. 

The colorful dresses and dark suits were starting to hurt his eyes, so with an excuse Yeosang wandered over to the balcony. It wasn’t as if he was leaving Mingi completely alone, his _parabatai_ was walking towards them, holding three flutes of champagne and a grin on his face. Yeosang took one of the flutes, muttering something under his breath about needing some fresh air and that it was getting too stuffy in there. On his way out he passed by Irene, who shot him a meaningful look.

“I am not getting into trouble, I promise,” he muttered.

“I hope that is true.” She watched him go, the stern look on her face interrupted when she was approached by a Shadowhunter from the Institute of Seoul, Kang Seulgi. 

Yeosang opened the big balcony doors, the curtains fluttered to a strong gust of wind. It was a starless sky, as always in New York during the Autumn season. A thick, gray wall of clouds spread over him. He was about to walk to the edge of the balcony and lean against the railing, when the night’s peacefulness was startled by a loud smack, followed closely by a yelp.

Yeosang looked around curiously. He spotted none other than Seonghwa in the distance. He was with the girl he had danced with earlier, except that she now looked furious, her hands twitching around the knife she had secured on the belt enveloping her waist.

“You have quite some nerve, Mr Park!” she nearly yelled, and stomped off angrily.

“Miss Antar, wait!” Seonghwa called after her, but she ignored him.

She shot daggers at Yeosang, who stepped aside to let her in, his hands raised in mock defense. She looked at the flute in his hand and snatched it, finishing it off as she disappeared. 

Yeosang smirked when he walked over to Seonghwa, who was still rubbing his cheek. The Shadowhunter from around the world had a displeased look on his face when he caught attention of Yeosang.

“My, my, Mr Park, what a charmer you are,” Yeosang said happily. Maybe the night wasn’t so terrible after all. “Is that how all your flirtations end? With a slap and the lady walking off angrily?”

“Mr Kang, I would appreciate it if you were to walk away!” Seonghwa hissed, turning around to lean his back against the railing. “I am not in the mood for your stupidity right now.”

Yeosang’s smirk widened. “Well, _I_ find this to be extremely entertaining.”

Seonghwa glanced at him. “I can imagine why, seeing as you cannot court _any_ lady, even if your life depended on it.”

Yeosang frowned, irritation growing in him. He shifted his weight to appear taller and glowered at Seonghwa. “As if you would know how I court!”

“Oh, Jinsoul and Mina have told me plenty about it,” Seonghwa shot back, smirking. “Stuttering and flailing your arms in the hopes any girl would understand your foolish blabbering.” Even in the darkness, Yeosang could make out the delighted and amused glint in Seonghwa’s dark brown eyes.

“That was one time!”

“The _only_ time,” Seonghwa corrected him.

Yeosang took in a deep breath, and remembered Irene’s words of not causing trouble. He clenched his fists and let them fall by his sides, resisting the urge to swing one of his fists at Seonghwa’s infuriatingly perfect face. Not only could it interfere with Irene’s perfectly planned night, but it would make Yeosang look like a mundane man and quite reckless—like a drunkard getting into a fight. Yeosang couldn’t have Seonghwa think that lowly of him. He straightened his back, rearranging his suit jacket, making sure all the buttons were firmly in place. 

“As lovely as this exchange of words has been, Mr Park, I am afraid I will be heading back inside.”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes. “Have you grown sensible in your age?” he questioned. “Where is that kid with the childish behavior that broke my nose last year?”

“Kid? I am only a year younger than you,” he protested.

“And it makes all the difference,” Seonghwa said, his smirk growing as he could sense Yeosang’s frustrations. He was enjoying getting him all riled up.

Yeosang noticed something moving behind Seonghwa, down in the front yard of the Institute. It was a big shadow, with little flames rising out of its body, a tower of smoke coming off of it. It looked as if someone was on fire, but that couldn’t be, the person would surely scream and beg for help.

“Oh, what is it, Mr Kang? Forgot how to talk—”

“Quiet!” Yeosang ordered, shouldering past Seonghwa to get a closer look at the shadow moving towards the Institute’s entrance. “Do you see that?” he asked, glancing at Seonghwa, whose eyes were already trained on the moving entity. It was now by the doors of the Institute, where it would be stopped by the wards put up to prevent anyone without angel blood from entering, but the entity kept moving. 

“We should head back inside and warn Miss Bae,” Seonghwa said, his whole playful demeanor gone and replaced by the cool and calculated Shadowhunter that he was trained to be. Yeosang nodded, his eyes still strained to whatever was moving in the patio, and to his surprise, and against all the odds, the wards did not stop it. 

**~*~**

**Seoul, October 11th 2019**

The bell of the Institute rang incessantly, gaining the attention of Jung Wooyoung, who was hanging out in the library as per usual, reading through some files from about 50 years ago, in which a _Pyxis_ had been opened to reveal a dangerous Greater Demon. With the increase of demonic activity Wooyoung suspected these files—or rather, he hoped, he _really_ did hope—were once again of importance. Choi Jongho, his _parabatai_ _,_ called him a lunatic for believing so. He’d prove him wrong. 

Wooyoung shut the file close loudly, startling the girl sitting opposite of him, and stood up. 

Kim Hyunjin had a wary look in her eyes, slowly closing the book about runes she had been reading up on.. She had only recently been admitted into the Institute, after her mundane father had died in a car crash.

“What does that bell mean?” she asked, following Wooyoung out of the library.

They bumped into Jongho in the corridor, he wore his training gear, and had a seraph blade drawn out, it shimmered in the dim light. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead and the usual mischief was bright in his eyes.

“We’ve got a visit!” Jongho said, grinning. Wooyoung nodded excitedly. “I’m hoping for once it’s something interesting.”

“Me too,” Wooyoung agreed. “I swear by the Angel, if it’s another boring political party invitation, I will personally stir up some chaos.”

“Please don’t, hyung,” Jongho said, rolling his eyes. The three Shadowhunters walked towards the staircase that led to the ground floor, where the bell was to be found. “The last time you stirred up chaos we were banned from taking on any mission for half a year.”

“But it was fun!”

“It was _not_. Hyejoo nearly got killed!”

“Hyejoo almost died?” Hyunjin asked, her eyes wide.

Wooyoung shook his head, his hand trailing over the walls. He liked to feel the cold stone underneath his fingertips. “Nah, Jongho is just exaggerating. Hyejoo had some vampire blood to get out of her system, that was it.”

“She spent the entire night crying and screaming, hyung,” Jongho pointed out.

They bumped into the infamous Son Hyejoo, and Kwon Boah, the Head of the Institute, on the ground floor. The last Shadowhunter residing in the Institute was out on a mission. Choi Youngjae, Jongho’s older brother and co-Head of the Institute.

“Are you perhaps talking about me?” Hyejoo wondered, waggling her eyebrows. “Repeating my heroic story, of how I battled all those vampires and—”

“You were knocked out five minutes into the mission and got kidnapped,” Wooyoung interrupted her, smirking when Hyejoo punched him, shooting Hyunjin an embarrassed grin.

“He’s lying!” she insisted.

“ _Kids_ ,” Boah said sternly. They had reached the Sanctuary’s door. “Whoever it is that is seeking us out, please try to behave.”

“What does the bell mean?” Hyunjin asked again, watching them as she expected an answer.

“It means a Downworlder is requesting to speak with us,” Hyejoo explained. “They can’t enter through the front entrance as they don’t have any angel blood, so we meet them here, in the Sanctuary.”

“I see.” Hyunjin nodded her head in understanding.

Boah opened the door, walking through in powerful strides, her chin held high. Wooyoung followed after her, curiously peeking over her shoulder to spot their guest. It was a man, not that much taller than Wooyoung, and slender with a stunning face. He wore baggy pants and a tailored jacket ornamented with beautiful buttons that shimmered in the witchlight. His skin was tan and his eyes were intense but kind. Wooyoung’s gaze lingered on the stranger’s eyes: his irises were a deep violet, inhumane and oddly beautiful. His warlock Mark.

“Good evening,” the warlock greeted Boah with a bow of his head. “I hope I am not interrupting anything?” he inquired.

“You are not,” she assured him. “Kim Hongjoong-ssi, is it?”

The warlock—Hongjoong—nodded his head, a small smile on his face. He eyed the four younger Shadowhunters with interest. 

“It’s certainly a lot livelier now than it was the last time I came here to ring the bell,” Hongjoong said. “I suppose that is nice to see, if not a bit threatening to my kind.”

Boah huffed, annoyed. “You should know that we are not in the pursuit to kill your kind anymore, Hongjoong-ssi. We’ve moved on from those notions.”

Hongjoong hummed, but didn’t comment on it. His face turned serious, he retrieved something from his jacket’s pocket. It was a handkerchief, when he unwrapped it, Wooyoung spotted a pointy and big tooth in it. It had to belong to a demon.

Hongjoong held it up for Boah and the other Shadowhunters to see. “I don’t suppose you know who this belongs to?” he wondered.

“I don’t,” Boah said, her tone clipped.

“I will tell you, but first, I wanted to ask if the Institute of Busan has already contacted you?”

Boah eyed the young Shadowhunters with her, an uncomfortable look crossing her eyes. “It has,” she revealed, much to Wooyoung’s surprise. She hadn’t told him anything about it. Aside from her, he was the second longest current resident of the Institute, having moved there at the young age of two, eighteen years ago. Usually she told him everything. “The Shadowhunters from Busan will arrive within the following days, why are you asking?”

“Because the same kind of… _demon_ that attacked the Institute of Busan happened to be lingering around a good friend’s den last night, killing most of his vampires. He asked me to come in his stead as he’s still mourning.”

Boah’s eyes widened, surprised. It was unusual for demons to attack other Downworlders, Wooyoung had rarely heard of such a case.

“Hongjoong-ssi, what is the _exact_ reason for your visit?” Boah asked.

“I am afraid that the peaceful years are over and troubling days might be upon us very soon,” the warlock told her, gravely. “I’m not too sure what the goal is of this demon was, but I am familiar with this tooth. You see, it isn’t just a demon’s tooth, it is also a vampire’s tooth.”

Boah frowned, taking in Hongjoong’s words. Wooyoung was confused as well, how could a Downworlder be both a demon and a vampire, those two kinds didn’t cross.

“I don’t understand,” Boah muttered, looking at the warlock in incomprehension.

“I’ll explain in due time.” Always mysterious and holding back crucial information, that wasn’t unusual for a Downworlder—especially of the immortal kind. “After these two separated yet linked events, I think a meeting between Shadowhunters and Downworlders is in order; don’t you agree? It seems as though this affects all of us.”

Boah stayed quiet for a moment. Wooyoung could tell she yearned to know the information the warlock had, but she knew as well he wouldn’t just hand it over to her. She let out a long sigh.

“Yes, I agree. Thank you, Hongjoong-ssi.” Boah bowed her head. “I’ll make sure to send out a message to all Downworlders of Seoul for a meeting soon,” she promised him. “Is there anything else you need?” she asked when Hongjoong didn’t move.

“I—” he hesitated, eyeing the younger Shadowhunters behind Boah. His gaze halted on Wooyoung with an odd look that the Shadowhunter could not interpret. “No, I believe that’s it. Thank you, Kwon Boah-ssi.” He bowed his head. “Goodbye.” With that he turned around and left the Institute.

Wooyoung didn’t even wait before he asked, “What did he mean when he asked about the Institute of Busan?”

Boah sighed, massaging her temples. She faced them, a tired look on her face. “There was an incident and we will be taking in the survivors.”

“So, the Shadowhunters from Busan will be living with us?” Hyejoo clarified, exchanging an excited look with Jongho and Wooyoung. They never had any visits, not like this. The last Shadowhunter to join them was Hyunjin and it had been four months since then already.

“Yes,” Boah nodded her head, “and I’ll be expecting you all to be welcoming and help them with whatever they might need. As Kim Hongjoong said, troubling days might be upon us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY thank u for reading the prologue!! i hope you liked it!!
> 
> fair warning the updates might be a bit slow for his one, but i'm trying my best ^^
> 
> -jack💛


	2. The International Institute of New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I want you to befriend the residents of the Institute. Especially that Kang boy, he appears to be their ringleader.”
> 
> Seonghwa sat up straight. “ _Father_!” he protested. “You cannot expect me to befriend that-that buffoon!”

**New York, October 28th 1899**

With a blood drenched hand, he removed his dark brown hair from his forehead, it was wet with sweat and blood, clinging to his skin, and shot a maniacally grin towards his best friend, who was bent over the body of the blood thirsty vampire, cutting his head off. The blood that should have poured out of the vampire’s neck would be nearly the same color as Mingi’s red hair, Yeosang reckoned. He had dyed it fairly recently, on a whim.

“That makes thirty-six,” Yeosang pointed out, nodding his head at the now dead vampire below Mingi. “Against fifty-three.”

“Oh, shut up, Yeo,” Mingi hissed, rubbing at the splatters of blood on his cheek with disgust. He shoved a wooden stake into the vampire’s chest, where the heart was. He glanced around in search of his _parabatai_ , Yeo Hwanwoong, who stood in the distance swinging his seraph blade with expertise as he fought off the last of the five vampires that had been hunting around Brooklyn for the past week. “I told you a million times that I was not going to further partake in your ridiculous bet.”

Yeosang rolled his eyes, searching the two cadavers near him for any indication whom these vampires might have belonged to. “Don’t be so boring.”

“I am not boring! You’re just crazy!” Mingi shot back, jogging over to aid his _parabatai_. 

Yeosang stayed back, unlatched his bow from his back, and ran a hand over the wood before he arched it in front of him, grabbing an arrow from the quiver. Usually he wouldn’t use his bow against vampires, they were much too quick, but the vampire fighting Hwanwoong—and now Mingi—was already distracted.

The arrow flew through the air with a whistling sound and landed in the vampire’s heart, causing the Child of the Night to scream out in surprise and despair. Hwanwoong moved his seraph blade neatly through the neck, cutting off her head.

“Fifty-four!” Yeosang chirped happily.

Mingi threw him an affronted look.

“Technically _I_ killed it,” Hwanwoong said, removing the arrow so he could return it to Yeosang. “Make that fifty-three and a half.”

“Fine,” he agreed. He did not like the judgmental look Mingi was shooting him. “I believe we are done here. I cannot wait to be back at the Institute and eat some of Miss López’s pork ribs.”

“The fact that you are thinking of food after we just killed five vampires truly astonishes me,” Mingi muttered under his breath, shaking his head, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You know I am always thinking of food.”

“I have to agree with Yeo, I am famished,” Hwanwoong said, rubbing his belly as he put away his seraph blade.

“You two are impossible!”

The three Shadowhunters walked away from the scene through the night unbothered and feeling overly victorious, the runes twisting and twirling their bodies granted them to walk silently and imperceptibly to the eyes of those few mundanes that were already waking up or still awake.

The conquering feelings of having slain those vampires vanished the moment the International Institute of New York appeared in the distance, it’s long, church-like towers raised far up into the dawning sky like silent and shadowy giants. It was located in the heart of Brooklyn, by Crown Heights, where an invisible line separated it from Brownsville. The actual Institute of New York, where all the local Shadowhunters resided in, was located in Manhattan, about a three hour walk away.

In the exhilaration of the combat—and the tiredness that came from staying up until the crack of dawn and chasing some rampant vampires—Yeosang had forgotten almost entirely about what awaited the three young Shadowhunters the moment they would cross the Institute’s threshold. He wished he could hold onto this current feeling of triumph, but he knew it would dissipate when he was confronted by the mess inside.

For starters, it was a sour reminder that they were considered too young and inexperienced to be partaking in the search for the demon that had passed through the gates of the Institute a few nights ago, during the International Festival. Yeosang knew that if the Head of the Institute were to be a man they would be considered differently, but Irene faced an invisible force to fight each morning she woke up in her position. Many other Heads of Institutes didn’t value her just because she was a woman.

Once the three Shadowhunters were inside, they were greeted by an early breakfast in the dining hall, mostly everyone was present already.

“Don’t even think about it,” Irene said sternly as she passed by them on her way out of the dining hall, holding a letter in her hand. “All three of you go get cleaned up and changed before you come down again. I don’t want any blood near Miss López’s wonderful food. That’s disrespectful _and_ distasteful.”

“The only distasteful thing at breakfast will be Mr Park’s gibface,” Yeosang muttered under his breath as he saw Seonghwa already present. He was sitting with Yunho, Mina, and the youngest of the Jung sisters, Jinsoul.

Irene shot him an exasperated look, sighing in defeat, before she carried on walking wherever it was she was going, most likely her study.

“Can you please restrain yourself this breakfast?” Mingi begged as the three walked to the stairs that led up to their separate chambers. “I do not want to watch you throw your toast at Seonghwa’s head, embarrassing not just yourself but all of us.”

Yeosang rolled his eyes. “There weren’t even many eyes to witness it—tragically.”

“Enough of us to wish death upon you and ourselves,” Mingi countered with an annoyed yet mildly amused sigh.

“ _Fine_ ,” he agreed, not liking it one bit.

When they reached the first floor they parted ways. After entering his chamber, Yeosang undressed quickly, leaving his blood splattered clothes on the floor in a mess. He dressed into a pair of skin tight leather pants and a white, fancy shirt—it was unusual for Shadowhunters to wear white since it was the color of mourning, but Yeosang was deeply invested in fashion, as luxurious as it may be for a Nephilim—leaving the two top buttons unbuttoned in a rather scandalous manner. He had seen many mundane men dress in that fashion, liking the way it looked. Mingi and Hwanwoong never had been a fan of it and Irene had long given up trying to speak some sense into Yeosang.

When Yeosang, Mingi, and Hwanwoong joined the breakfast, most Shadowhunters were gone already, most likely to train or to plan out how to proceed with the recent developments. Much to Yeosang’s chagrin, Seonghwa still sat in his seat, reading a book as he held a mug of tea in his free hand. He didn’t acknowledge them in the slightest.

Miss López came rushing out of the kitchen, holding a silver tray with both of her hands. On it there were pork cutlets and mashed potatoes. She smiled at them and placed the tray near where they had taken their seats—far away from Seonghwa.

“Miss Bae told me you just finished a mission and I should prepare something with a little more substance.”

“Thank you,” Yeosang said with an appreciative nod. His mouth was salivating at the sight of the food. “Famished! I’m telling you I could eat a whole bison!”

“You would die,” Mingi pointed out, quietly, but he did dig with just as much fervent as his friend. “But thankfully you would have me to help you eat the bison.”

“As if I would share my bison with you,” Yeosang said flippantly. 

He glanced up, his mouth full of food, his cheeks denting, and looked at Seonghwa, who hadn’t made even the slightest reaction to their banter, as if they didn’t exist. Yeosang rolled his eyes.

“Mr Park!” he called out.

Seonghwa let out a very long and exasperated sigh. He closed the book around his index finger, so he wouldn’t lose the page he was on, and looked up at Yeosang. “Yes, Mr Kang?”

Mingi and Hwanwoong kept eating silently, but it was clear that their attention was on the two Shadowhunters.

“I cannot help but notice you aren’t in the briefing with all the other Shadowhunters. Did they find you too incompetent? Will you be sent away?” Yeosang wondered, smiling hugely. “Please tell me they are sending you away, I could use some good news on this fine morning.”

Seonghwa stared blankly at him for a few seconds, the anger simmering in his eyes was bright, but he was very clearly trying to control himself. 

“I was at an early briefing so that I could enjoy my breakfast in _peace_ and _quiet_ ,” he shot back, raising his eyebrows meaningfully before he returned to his book.

But Yeosang wasn’t quite done, yet, with disturbing the older Shadowhunter. “You do know that there is a library where you can do all the reading you need—or even better, you can go to your personal chamber,” he said, gesturing his hand in the general direction of the chambers, “instead of being a public eyesore,” he added, grinning when Seonghwa looked up at him with an annoyed glint in his eyes.

“No, thank you. I am quite all right here. Besides, this room is much closer to where the briefing is held. I cannot have them look for me and waste precious time that could be invested into the mission.” Seonghwa didn’t return to his reading, instead he held Yeosang’ gaze defiantly. There was an almost imperceptible tug at the corners of his lips. To anyone else it probably would have passed unacknowledged, but Yeosang knew him well—nearly a decade now—so his eyes captured the movement, lingering for a moment on the other’s lips. “Have you considered, Mr Kang, that perhaps you are the eyesore? Not just that, but a waste of space, too!”

Yeosang clutched his cutlery tightly, resisting the urge to throw his knife at Seonghwa. “Take that back!” he demanded.

“Ah, but why should I? You aren’t even trained well enough to partake in this _extremely_ important mission.”

“This morning we successfully took out five rampant vampires!” Yeosang told him, getting heated. He could feel his cheeks turn red in anger, his hands trembling as he held himself back from flinging over the table to swing his fist at Seonghwa, whose expression was full of arrogance.

“That is adorable,” Seonghwa only commented. His eyes flitted over to Mingi and Hwanwoong for a moment, who weren’t eating anymore. “You know, if it were not for your impulsiveness, I bet your friends could actually be of help.”

Mingi cleared his throat. “We are a package,” he said. 

Hwanwoong nodded his head, adding, “Wherever Yeosang goes, we follow, and the other way around.”

Seonghwa sighed anew. “A pity.” He looked up at the entrance of the hall behind Yeosang, Mingi, and Hwanwoong, his gaze fixating on someone that stood there. His eyes hardened then. “I must go,” he announced, standing up. “What a shame, this truly was a riveting conversation. To be continued?” he asked, grinning arrogantly at Yeosang.

Yeosang huffed. “Decidedly not!”

Seonghwa finished his tea quickly and grabbed his book before he exited the room. Yeosang turned around to watch him leave with Park Jinhyuk, Seonghwa’s father and a very notorious Shadowhunter, part of the Council. He nodded his head at them in acknowledgement before he left too.

Yeosang sniffed, crunching up his nose in displeasure. “What a schmuck!”

Mingi sighed. His fork full of mashed potatoes, that he was about to shovel into his mouth, hung in the air, sauce dripping down onto his plate. “It was you who started it this time,” he pointed out.

Yeosang crossed his arms, offended. “On whose side are you?”

“Yours, obviously.”

“Mingi is right,” Hwanwoong finally spoke up. As the oldest of the three he held an unofficial sense of authority; he never ordered them around, but in situations like these, he often used his age to settle them. “You started it. You could have just ignored him.”

“But that makes it seem as if he is winning!” Yeosang tried to argue.

“We are _all_ Shadowhunters,” Mingi mumbled, uselessly. “We’re meant to be on the same side,” he added quietly.

“Yeosang…” Hwanwoong muttered, his tone serious. “They are going to be our guests for who knows how long. We need to get along with them. They are helping us with this new threat, which he was right about; we aren’t exactly equipped for it yet.”

Yeosang sighed, defeated. He knew Hwanwoong was right, but if he couldn’t even rebel a little and complain; then where was the fun? How was he supposed to cope?

“Why did it have to be him, though?” he asked no one in particular, just to whine a little more.

“He is a fairly good fighter,” Mingi admitted, his eyes big as a puppy’s and Yeosang couldn’t really be mad at him.

“He has trained at different Institutes after all,” Hwanwoong added. “Let us just ignore him. We are permitted to rest some after breakfast, if we choose to do so,” he switched the topic of their conversation before Yeosang could go on a tirade that he was better than Seonghwa. “Irene said that we will be alone for a couple of hours.”

Almost as if she had been summoned, Irene walked through the door of the dinner hall, the Jung sisters passed through the corridor behind her towards the armory.

“Boys,” she said as a greeting, marching over to where they were seated. “I will be leaving with Mr Park. He has prepared two parties, I will be going with him,” she explained, quickly and hushed. “ _He_ decided—for all of us—that we would pay a visit to some of the Downworlders that have worked with demons in the past.”

“What?” Yeosang protested. “You are an excellent Shadowhunter, you should not have to obey him—”

“ _Yeosang_ ,” Irene cut him off, shooting him a warning look. “I know what I am capable of, but times aren’t exactly favorable for a woman in this position… Right now, the only thing that matters is finding out what exactly tried to infiltrate the Institute during the International Feast.” 

Yeosang bit his bottom lip, ashamed and angry. He nodded his head, not meeting her eyes. “Sorry,” he mumbled, not feeling sorry at all. She knew that, she didn’t want him to feel sorry, but she didn’t want him to uselessly rebel and speak up against the Council and its members. It would only further make them doubt Irene and consecutively the entire population of Shadowhunter women.

She glanced over at Hwanwoong. “As the oldest, the authority of the Institute falls onto you. Make sure Mingi and Yeosang do not burn it down during my leave,” she joked, earning a low chuckle from Mingi and an eye roll from Yeosang.

“Oh, do not worry. I have got them under control.” Hwanwoong promised her.

Irene hummed, looking as though there was more she wanted to say to them, but then shook her head lightly. “I will be on my way then. See you tonight.” She left the dinner hall, the last of the Shadowhunters to walk towards the armory.

When their plates and the silver tray were empty and their bellies pleasantly stuffed, Mingi stood up to excuse himself, claiming he needed a long and relaxing bath. Hwanwoong left as well, walking towards the library to do some reading. Yeosang made his way over to the training room to clean his arrows and sharpen their arrowheads, and once the food was digested he could absolve some extra training—maybe practice some knife throwing in case Seonghwa aggravated him again during the breakfast hour.

It was around midday, when the sun—if it had been present—would shine through the tall windows in the training room, bathing the stone floor and the walls with its warm light, particles of dust suspended in the air and creating small galaxies. But the sky was gray and it was raining, the wind was blowing violent gusts of rain against the glass. It nearly drowned the sound of Yeosang’s knives hitting their targets.

He was still in the training room, it had taken him two hours to fix up his arrows, and after that he had decided to train, even if his muscles burned and he would desperately need a bath and a nap. His mind was spinning, though, and training always kept him level headed and grounded. 

He was in the middle of sharpening one of the knives, in a rather jerky and aggressive manner, when the booming chime of a very specific bell resonated through the Institute. Yeosang halted, looking up in confusion. He glanced at the dark clouds outside, finding them appropriate for his mood. He felt useless and small, and _unimportant_ , and he couldn’t stand that. The summoning bell was the distraction he had yearned for.

Yeosang jumped up, sliding one of the knives in the belt around his waist while he held the other by its handle, ready to be thrown. He didn’t bother putting on his button up again, walking out shirtless. In the corridor, near the Institute’s entrance, he bumped into Mingi and Hwanwoong, both had inquiring expressions.

“Who do you think it is?” Mingi asked as the walked out of the Institute.

“Hopefully someone with an interesting quest,” Yeosang answered, shivering slightly as the cold rain poured down on them.

Hwanwoong took the lead, walking to receive their guest. Mingi and Yeosang stayed behind, stepping back to cover themselves from the downpour, but even with the loud rain they caught their friend’s words.

“Welcome to the International Institute of New York. My name is Yeo Hwanwoong. Who am I speaking with?” he asked the stranger.

The stranger, as well as Yeosang could discern through the wall of water, was a young man around his height with a sharp and angular face. He had silvery hair—Yeosang wasn’t sure if it was dyed or the result of _yin fen_ —and huge brown eyes that looked rather hostile. He wore baggy pirate pants with a simple white button up, much like Yeosang had worn to breakfast. He seemed utterly unbothered by the rain.

“Kim Hongjoong,” the man revealed his name. Mingi let out a little gasp. Hongjoong was the High Warlock of Queens. He was notorious and meddled with many Downworlders affairs, but never had broken the Accords. It was known that he didn’t think well of the Nephilim, which made his visit so much more surprising. “I am here to speak with the Head of the Institute, Bae Irene,” he continued. His eyes flitted over to Mingi and Yeosang, halting on the latter as they roamed over his exposed chest, raising a single eyebrow. Yeosang felt his cheeks flush slightly, but he did his damned best at ignoring it. “Or perhaps the co-head? Is he still rotting in the Silent City or have you graced him with immunity, like your kind tends to do so often?”

Hwanwoong ignored the latter comment, scowling slightly. “Irene is not present right now,” he told the warlock. “You can come inside, if you’d like, Mr Kim, and discuss your matters with me and my friends,” he offered, pointing his index finger at Yeosang and Mingi. “And no, Mr Bae is still in the Silent City, his rightful place after what he committed,” he added meaningfully.

Hongjoong stared at Hwanwoong for a moment, considering the offer, then he nodded his head. The two walked towards the entrance of the Institute. Once they were inside, Hongjoong moved his fingers, blue sparks came from the tips of his fingers, and within the blink of an eye they were all dry.

“Thank you,” Mingi muttered warily.

“You are most welcome.” Hongjoong smiled politely. He glanced over at Yeosang, down at his exposed chest. “You should probably put something on, _darling_ , or you will catch a bad cold.”

Yeosang flinched at the flirty nickname. He squinted his eyes at the warlock and searched for his Mark. He couldn’t find anything, which meant that the warlock had concealed it with magic.

“I will… go do that. Mingi go fetch Miss Julianna and ask her to bring us some tea and scones,” Yeosang said before he parted to the training room to grab his button up.

Hwanwoong gestured his hand towards one of the rooms near the entrance, where they roomed their non-Nephilim guests in. Hongjoong followed him, admiring the Institute’s inner architecture.

Fifteen minutes later, Mingi, Hwanwoong, and the warlock were comfortably seated in the empty room while Yeosang was perched against the fireplace, where a fire cackled warmly. A tray of tea and scones stood on a small table between the burgundy seats. Miss Julianna stood by the door with one of the Conta twins—who were the Institute’s stable boys and carriage drivers, and often aided in combat as well. It wasn’t so unusual for their staff to get involved in matters regarding the Institute.

“Mr Kim,” started Hwanwoong, handing the warlock a cup of steaming tea, “what brings you to our Institute? You know that there is also the Institute of New York, in Manhattan.”

Hongjoong smiled bitterly. “Ah, I have heard that Miss Bae is a little more open minded regarding Downworlders and other… _things_. I favored her over Mr Brightpath,” he explained with a dismissing gesture of his hand. “Besides, in my knowledge, it was this Institute that got attacked by that demon, not the other one.”

“That is true.” Hwanwoong nodded his head in affirmation.

“It is the reason of my visit, actually,” Hongjoong revealed. “I have heard rumors in the Downworld…”

“What kind of rumors?” Yeosang asked.

Hongjoong glanced at him, smirking. “Calm down, little Nephilim, I am getting there.” He looked back at Hwanwoong. “About a year ago, I was approached by a human subjugate. He offered me a deal. I was to work for a mundane, complete a couple of complicated spells for him. The reward was… attractive,” he began explaining. “Too bad the magic he mentioned was awfully dark and prohibited. Even us warlock hesitate to dabble with that. So I declined, of course. I must say I was caught up in personal stories and I forgot all about it. A friend of mine was dealing with a very unusual case of werewolves in Seoul and—”

“Mr Kim,” Hwanwoong cut him off. Immortals had a tendency to ramble, believing everyone had the time to listen. “Please do not get carried away.”

“Right. My apologies.” Hongjoong cleared his throat. “I think it was April when I first noticed a very unusual drop in demon activity. It was as though they had other goals to pursue than to torment you Nephilim.” He grinned. “But it was not just demons acting strangely. Vampires, werewolves—there was a huge increase all of a sudden, as if someone was making an army. I stayed out of it, of course. What the Children of the Night and the Children of the Moon do is not my business, but the demons… That is a different story. Much to my resentment I contacted my father, a Greater Demon of Hell. I… do not exactly enjoy my conversations with him, but I did you Nephilim a favor. He did not reveal much; when does he ever?” He laughed bitterly, hurt flashing through his eyes. “He did say, though, that a mundane had struck quite an appealing deal with another Greater Demon. An unusual alliance between a mundane human and a demon.” He sipped from his tea, humming pleased. “This tastes exquisitely.” He leaned forward in his seat to take a scone. The way he moved was slow and relaxed. Immortals often took their time since it did matter little to them. “I was a bit concerned by then, but I didn’t want to get involved. I prefer to stay neutral and only help my dearest friends when they require it, but after the attack I had to come forward.”

Yeosang huffed. “How kind of you!”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes. He regarded Yeosang with an exasperated look, very similar to Irene’s when she wanted to throttle Yeosang for being either impulsive or stubborn.

“There are always unusual things happening in the Downworld, Mr…?” he trailed off, tilting his head in curiosity.

“Kang Yeosang.”

“Mr Kang. It does not necessarily always mean immediate war on you Nephilim,” Hongjoong said. “Though you certainly seem to think so.”

“I think we all would appreciate if you got to the point—”

“ _Yeosang_ ,” Hwanwoong hissed warningly. “If you are not going to stay quiet, please be my guest and leave.” Yeosang made a grimace, but stayed quiet, stuffing his mouth with scones. “Pardon me, Mr Kim, he does not know how to behave.”

Hongjoong laughed, delighted. “Oh, do not worry, Mr Yeo. I like him,” he said passingly, but Yeosang choked on his scone. Mingi shot him an alarmed yet amused look. “Back to the mundane, though. The subjugate that visited me had told me that all I needed to do was to perform a very strange binding spell. As I said, it was dark magic. One I had not even heard of before, I must say. I thought this mundane he spoke of was over his head, but considering that this demonic entity passed through the Institute’s ward, it is a bit concerning; is it not?”

Hwanwoong nodded his head. “Yes, we have been trying to find out how it did. Since it ran away, dying mysteriously on its escape, before we could capture it, it has been quite a mystery.”

“Understandably so. I would not have believed for it to work.”

“Do you perhaps know what exactly this binding spell entailed?” Mingi asked.

Hongjoong shook his head. “No. He did not say much about it. Just something about making a human become a demon, which is not possible, as you know.”

A tense silence befell them. Yeosang frowned, letting the information sink in. Was it possible some mad mundane had tried the impossible and succeeded? No, there had to be a more plausible explanation for it, he was sure of it.

“I sent out a faerie friend about two days ago and I have not heard back from her. It worries me,” Hongjoong continued. “Whatever this demon attack was, I have reasons to believe it is much bigger and more dangerous than we all think.”

“Thank you, Mr Kim, for sharing this with us,” said Hwanwoong after a brief and tense silence. He was holding his tea cup tightly, a frown between his brows. Yeosang knew he was trying to appear a calm and collected adult. “Yeo, if you would be so kind as to escort Mr Kim out of the Institute once he has finished his tea. I will be going to write the information down for Irene.”

Mingi stayed for a moment, awkwardly glancing at the warlock before he nodded his head and left with his _parabatai_. Yeosang felt mildly uncomfortable having been left alone; even Miss Julianna had gone out of the room to finish some tasks.

“Mr Kang,” Hongjoong started, setting down his tea cup precariously. “May I call you Yeosang?”

“I guess that is acceptable,” he told the warlock. He wasn’t all that thrown off about dropping the formalities. “Are you done then?” he asked, nodding at the cup.

“Yes, thank you. It was very delightful.” Hongjoong got up from the seat, dusting off his pants. He walked towards the door, turning around to give Yeosang an expectative look. The Shadowhunter pushed himself off the fireplace and followed the warlock out. He led Hongjoong to the entrance of the Institute, outside it was still raining, but much softer than before. The droplets were more like a caress on Yeosang’s face now, gliding down his cheeks like tears. “Oh, no need,” Hongjoong said as they stood beneath the rain. “You will just get uselessly wet.”

“It is quite alright.” He shrugged, unbothered. 

In the distance he spotted one of the Institute’s carriages passing through the front gates, the clacking of the horse’s hooves on the stone pavement resonated loudly. 

Hongjoong pressed his lips together in a fine line, his discomfort clear. “I will be on my way then, before this becomes uncomfortable.” He did, however, place a hand on Yeosang’s forearm, holding it for a split second. “I must say, it was a pleasure meeting you today, Yeosang. Unlike my other encounters with Nephilim. If there ever is anything you may need, please do come forward.”

Yeosang tilted his head in confusion, momentarily taken aback. “I fail to see how my impression may have been positive, but I will keep that in mind,” he said, pushing Hongjoong’s hand off his arm. He felt it to be weirdly inappropriate, much too intimate for someone he just met—even more considering they were both men.

The carriage came to a stop by the bottom of the stairs, a few feet away from where Hongjoong was stalking away decidedly. Its door opened and out came Seonghwa, with Yunho and Mina in tow. Seonghwa jogged up the stairs, towards Yeosang, who stood a bit mesmerized, unsure what to do with himself. Yunho and Mina followed him, the former was glancing at Hongjoong’s retrieving figure.

“Who was that?” Seonghwa asked out of breath. He had cuts all over his face and exposed arms, his raven hair was wet, and there was someone’s blood smeared over his gear. Yunho and Mina didn’t look much better. “We were ambushed, someone gave our position away—”

Yeosang snapped out of his daze, his eyes flying over the Shadowhunter in front of him. “Relax, Mr Park,” he said. He looked at the carriage, spotting Irene. She looked furious. Yeosang brushed past Seonghwa towards her. “Irene!” he called out.

“Yeo.” She looked surprised at seeing him. “What is it? Did something happen?” She was holding her wrist, it was bent at a strange angle. Whether it hurt or not—it most likely did—was hard to tell as she didn’t wince or give away any sign of pain.

“Someone visited us,” he revealed as he walked into the Institute with her. Seonghwa, Yunho, and Mina waited on them to listen. “The High Warlock of Queens. His name is Kim Hongjoong. He has offered us his help.”

“A warlock,” Seonghwa echoed. “You let a warlock into the Institute?!” he asked incredulously. Yeosang ignored him.

“What did he want?” Irene inquired.

“He said he was aware of strange business happening in the Shadow World, but did not think much of it until now. He is wary of us Nephilim.” Seonghwa huffed. Yeosang shot him an annoyed look. “He said a mundane wanted him to perform a spell to turn a human into a demon. He refused to cast such magic.”

“And you believed him?” Mina wondered, not with the same heat as Seonghwa, but it was clear she had her doubts about Hongjoong as well. For some reason it bothered Yeosang.

“Well… yes.” He was surprised to find that it was true. He believed Hongjoong. He glanced at Irene to await her thoughts on this. “Hwanwoong wrote down the details.”

“I will read them immediately and write Hongjoong a letter,” she said, decidedly. “Thank you, Yeo.”

“I think you should get your wrist checked out,” Yunho said once they were inside the Institute. He looked at her worriedly. 

“I will let my father know about this visit,” said Seonghwa.

Irene opened her mouth, a bothered look crossing her face, but she just nodded her head in a resigned matter. “Right,” she said. “Go do that. I will head to the infirmary. Yeo could you get Miss Anne.”

“Of course.” Yeosang parted ways, going in the direction of the staff’s chambers to seek out the Institute’s nurse. Much to his chagrin Seonghwa followed him. “What do you want, Mr Park?” he asked, not turning around.

“I am not following you, Mr Kang. I just happen to walk in the same direction as you,” he defended himself, his voice sharp. “Do you trust the Downworlders now?”

“No, I do not. Hongjoong just seemed different, that is all.”

“Aha,” Seonghwa hummed, his tone inquired something that Yeosang did not like.

He stopped, turning around. Seonghwa nearly bumped into him. “ _What_?” he hissed.

“Nothing.” Seonghwa eyed him with an air of superiority. “I just think it is suspicious that we were ambushed by a bunch of demons and this warlock decides to enter the Institute…”

“Coincidences exist.”

Seonghwa laughed haughtily. “You are not just incompetent, but a fool too.”

Yeosang balled his hands into fists, ready to punch him, but he restrained himself. He took a deep breath and turned around to keep walking. Seonghwa had other plans, though, as he reached out his hand to grab Yeosang’s wrist and yanked him back. Yeosang stumbled over his feet, crashing into the older Shadowhunter.

“I know that you are used to the ways Miss Bae runs this Institute, with her damaging open mindedness regarding Downworlders, but my father will soon become the Head of this Institute. Once the Council realizes how incompetent Miss Bae is—”

Yeosang twisted his wrist so that Seonghwa was no longer holding it. He glared daggers at the older Shadowhunter. “Oh, shut up, will you? I did not think it was possible for you to become even less likable, but wonders do happen, don’t they?” He turned around once again, walking away to get Miss Anne.

“Once my father becomes Head of the Institute, I will make sure that you are kicked out!” Seonghwa called after him, but Yeosang ignored him. He knew he couldn’t be kicked out, he hadn’t done anything to warrant that. He followed the rules and obeyed the Clave’s Law; sometimes he could be a bit rude and impulsive, but that wasn’t a reason to be declined shelter. “You are not as great as you believe yourself to be!”

“Neither are you!” Yeosang called over his shoulder, making a crude gesture with his hand.

Whatever Seonghwa said was drowned out as Yeosang entered the staff’s chambers in a storm and shut the door loudly.

“Mr Kang!” Miss Julianna protested indignantly. She was currently taking a break with Miss Anne and one of the Conta twins; bowls of vegetable soup and a loaf of bread were presented on the table they were seated at.

“My apologies,” Yeosang said sheepishly. “Miss Anne, Irene needs to see you. Her wrist is bent rather unnaturally…” Miss Anne immediately got up, leaving her food unattended, and left with Yeosang.

**~*~**

While he played with the sleeve of his shirt, anxiety running through his body instead of blood, Seonghwa rapped his knuckles against the door of his father’s private chambers. He heard the quiet _come in_ and yet he hesitated before grabbing the door’s knob.

His father sat by his desk, papers scattered all about. On a chair near the bed was a pile of clean clothes, and the trunk by the end of his four poster bed was opened and a mess. A tower of books was next to the desk, nearly as tall as the desk and close to tumbling over. In the short time his father had resided in the International Institute of New York, he had made the chamber Irene had assigned to him resemble his office back in Alicante. 

“Father,” Seonghwa said, clearing his throat, and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. “You wanted to see me?”

Jinhyuk glanced up, a tired look on his face, but it transformed the moment he set eyes on Seonghwa, a smile growing in stead of the usual frown. “Son,” he greeted him, beckoning him over. “Yes, I have called for you. There is something I wanted to discuss with you. It is of great importance and must be treated with the utmost secrecy.”

Seonghwa frowned, a rush of excitement and validation running through him. “Of course.” He moved to grab one of the chairs standing by the fireplace and dragged it in front of the desk, sitting down. “Tell me.”

Jinhyuk’s smile simmered down until a serious expression took over. He folded his hands in front of himself and cleared his throat.

“While we stay at this Institute I need you to spy on the closer circle for me. If I want to take down Miss Bae, I need enough proof that she is incapable. I have tried reasoning with the Council, but they don’t see eye to eye with me on this…” He let out a resigned sigh, shaking his head. 

“What exactly do you need me to do?” Seonghwa asked.

“I want you to befriend,” he explained, making quotation marks with his fingers around the word befriend, “the residents of the Institute. Especially that Kang boy, he appears to be their ringleader.”

Seonghwa sat up straight. “ _Father_!” he protested, feeling mildly affronted about what he was being asked. Befriend Yeosang? What an unimaginable and unpleasant task, he thought. “You cannot expect me to befriend that-that buffoon!”

Jinhyuk sighed, displeased at his son’s outburst. “You aren’t to actually befriend him—only _pretend_.”

“But even so, he is a complete—” he tried to argue, but his father held up one hand to stop him.

“Enough, Seonghwa!” Jinhyuk cut him off. “Do not speak to me in that tone. You will do as I ask; do you understand?”

Seonghwa looked down at the desk, fixating on a piece of paper that appeared to be a letter his father was writing. He couldn’t decipher the words as they had been scribbled down hastily and in cursive. He nodded his head, feeling small.

“Yes, I understand,” he said. “I apologize.”

“It’s okay. I know how difficult it must be reasoning with Kang Yeosang. A boy with that temper… A good example of someone raised with the absence of a male figure. It is a shame, I was well acquaintanced with Mr Kang. A good man, he was.”

Seonghwa nodded his head again, staying quiet. He hadn’t met Yeosang’s parents, they had died before the two boys had been introduced in the Academy, but he had heard heroic tellings about them.

“You can leave now, Seonghwa,” ordered Jinhyuk, dismissing his son with a short and quick movement of his hand. “I have work to do.”

“Yes, father.” Seonghwa stood up, bowing his head before he left the room.


	3. The Shadowhunters from Busan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He is half-faerie, if you were wondering.”
> 
> “I was not!” Wooyoung lied, scoffing. 
> 
> “Sure you weren’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so we meet san !

**Seoul, October 13th 2019**

The training room cast long shadows on the ground as the evening sun filtered through the long windows. The decorative paint on them—telling stories of those Shadowhunters that had first built the Institute of Seoul many centuries ago—made the walls and floor of the room shimmer in different colors. Wooyoung remembered the first time he had entered the room, nearly a decade ago, irritated by the different colors, drawing the curtains shut so it wouldn’t disturb his training. Now he found something comforting in the many colorful blurs. He liked to see the way they danced on his sweat covered skin, making it glister, as he drew his arm back, the knife’s handle securely in his hand, aiming at the center of the target. 

Wooyoung inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with air until he could no longer inhale, then he stopped breathing, throwing the knife. As it parted the air in between him and the target, he let out all the air of his lungs. By the time he was halfway done, the knife was already stuck to the center of the target.

He grinned.

He hadn’t always been good at knife throwing, but he was ambitious and when there was something he wasn’t good at he made sure he would be good at it, no matter what the price was. He moved to grab another knife from the table by his side; aim, inhale, throw, exhale, success.

He wasn’t feeling very victorious that afternoon though.

He had gotten into a fight with Boah the day Kim Hongjoong had visited them and it still prevailed, hence why he was found in the training room and not out on the streets of Seoul with Jongho, Hyejoo, and Boah to visit the vampire den that had been attacked by that strange demon.

Wooyoung had crossed a line, apparently, and Boah had decided it was best for him to stay in the Institute until he had calmed down, sticking to training and welcoming the Shadowhunters from Busan. He had agreed to the former, but completely ignored the task for the latter. Jongho’s older brother was in the Institute anyway, he could take care of the newcomers once they arrived, which—as Wooyoung let his eyes travel to the longcase clock standing by the far end of the room, where all the training weapons were displayed—he realized it was right about now that their guests would cross the entrance of the Institute, if they hadn’t already.

He gripped the knife’s handle tighter as he threw it, bothered and annoyed. He could have been out on Seoul’s street with his fellow Shadowhunters to get to the bottom of this mystery. It was the first exciting thing happening in Seoul in _years_. He knew he should be grateful that nothing major was disturbing the mundane world and Shadow World, but he couldn’t help wanting to be part of an epic story that would be retold a century from now.

A knock on the door interrupted him and, when he looked up, Hyunjin revealed herself. She was dressed in jeans and a sunflower colored button up, her dark brown hair pulled away from her face in a neatly done bun. She seemed hesitant to approach him. Even if it had been months since her arrival at the Institute of Seoul, she still struggled to fully feel part of the Nephilim world and their customs, especially she struggled to get along with the lot of them. They could come off as abrasive and very mission oriented, whereas mundane humans had other worries swirling their minds; Hyunjin was learning that now, trying her best to adapt.

“Youngjae-oppa says you should come down to the drawing room. _They_ are here and he wants you to be part of the welcoming committee.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “Welcoming committee,” he repeated with a scoff. “He is the co-Head, he can deal with them himself.”

Hyunjin bit her bottom lip, a troubled look crossing her face. She nodded her head once, already stepping back to shut the door close. Wooyoung let out a long sigh, it wasn’t her fault that Wooyoung had gotten into a fight and was acting a bit childish. He shouldn’t put her through the trouble to explain Wooyoung’s pettiness to Youngjae and a group of strangers.

“Tell him I’ll be there in ten,” he said, putting down the knife he was holding.

Hyunjin nodded her head, a look of relief passing through her face. “They’re not so bad. Two boys and two girls, all around our ages,” she told him, smiling warily. She left without another word.

Wooyoung hummed, walking towards where he had discarded his jacket earlier. He passed a hand through his black hair, trying to style it a bit before he left the training room. He wasn’t going to bother looking presentable for the Shadowhunters from Busan. 

The drawing room was one of the few rooms in the Institute that hadn’t really been updated over the years, still having the old fashioned seats and couch, the old fireplace—which hadn’t been used in years, since the Institute got upgraded with a central heating system—served now as an extra bookshelf. Much like the other rooms in the Institute, the paintings on the windows made the inside shimmer with different colors, but the moment Wooyoung opened the door a cloud passed over the sun, and all the lighting vanished.

Youngjae stopped his words, turning his head towards Wooyoung. “Ah, how graceful of you to join us,” he said, a strained smile forming on his face.

Wooyoung grinned, turning on the light switch, effectively bathing the drawing room with soft lighting.

“Yes, yes, I know my presence is very much required here,” Wooyoung said, glancing at the Shadowhunters from Busan without bothering to really _look_ at them. He took a seat next to Hyunjin on the couch. She gave him a grateful smile, her tense shoulders sagging a bit as she exhaled in relief.

“As I was saying,” Youngjae picked up where he had left off before Wooyoung had interrupted them, “the Institute of Seoul welcomes you and hopes that your stay here—for however long it may be—is pleasant, and we will try to accommodate all of your needs. Aside from Boah and I, we currently have four other Shadowhunters living here. You already met Hyunjin, and now I may introduce you to Jung Wooyoung. He isn’t as prickly as he pretends to be.” Wooyoung scoffed, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You will meet the rest of them tonight once they’re back from their mission.” Youngjae smiled warmly. “If there is anything you need, don’t hesitate to speak to me or any other resident of the Institute. We will try to help you however we can.”

“Thank you, Youngjae-ssi,” said one of the girls. She seemed to be the oldest. She had dyed, shoulder long blonde hair and was wearing a pair of thin framed glasses. She turned to look at Hyunjin and Wooyoung, nodding her head in acknowledgement. “We’ve spent some truly terrible days in Alicante, being interrogated nonstop and forced to retell the events over and over again. We lost a dear friend and haven’t had any time for grieving yet; would it be alright if we are shown to our chambers so we can catch some rest?”

“Of course!” Youngjae nodded his head, standing up. “Wooyoung, please accompany San and Gunhak to their rooms. They’ll be taking the dormitories opposite yours and Jongho’s.”

Wooyoung glanced over to the aforementioned boys with the intention of appraising them: see what they were made out of and if they were any good, but his gaze froze once his eyes stopped on one of the Busan Shadowhunters. He was slender and probably taller than Wooyoung. His eyes were cat-like and a very dark brown, something far-away and sad lingered in them. He had black, soft looking hair, but a few strands by the fringe were completely white. Wooyoung wondered what that was about.

When the Shadowhunter glanced back at him, Wooyoung felt pinned to his seat, his heartbeat slowing down before it picked up double its previous speed. The Shadowhunter looked away again and Wooyoung snapped out of it.

“Hyunjin you may show Yerim and Jimin where they will be staying. I need to send a message to Alicante about their arrival,” Youngjae said, dismissing the round.

Wooyoung stood up, jerking his chin in the direction of the door. “Follow me,” he said, leaving the room, not waiting to see if the two boys were following him. He walked down the narrow corridor, towards the staircase by the end. The dormitories were on the second floor.

“My name is Kim Gunhak, by the way,” said one of them as they walked quietly up the stairs. “This is Choi San.”

Wooyoung didn’t turn around. “A pleasure. You already know who I am.”

“Are you always this rude?” asked the other Shadowhunter— _San_. His voice was melodic, something haughty in his tone.

“Depends,” Wooyoung answered cheekily. They arrived at the chambers that had been prepared for them, only then did he turn around to look at them—he did his best not to let his eyes linger on Choi San, something about it felt incredibly dangerous. “Alright, we’re here. Choose whichever you like.”

“Where do you sleep?” Gunhak asked curiously. Wooyoung pointed his index finger at the door opposite of them. “To whom belongs the other?” Gunhak asked a lot of questions, Wooyoung realized.

“Choi Jongho. My _parabatai_.”

“Choi?” San echoed, frowning. Wooyoung glanced at him. 

“Yeah, he is Youngjae’s younger brother,” Wooyoung explained. He still was looking at San, he was enchantingly beautiful. With a jolt Wooyoung’s eyes caught on San’s ears, which were pointy and nothing like a human’s—or Shadowhunter’s, for that matter. San noticed, of course, and something reserved and guarded shut his face. He pressed his lips together.

“Another one of your many, scattered around the globe cousins?” Gunhake inquired, addressing San.

“Seems like it.” San grabbed the door handle of the room closest to him, not bothering to really look. He opened it. “I need to rest. See you at dinner, hyung.” With that he vanished, leaving Wooyoung a bit startled and dazed.

Gunhak smile, sheepishly. “Sorry. He doesn’t really know his family—both of his parents’ sides—so it can be a bit overwhelming to randomly meet family for him.”

“I understand.” Wooyoung’s eyes lingered on San’s door. He was overcome with the sudden desire to know more about the mysterious Shadowhunter from Busan. Maybe the most exciting part wasn’t the strange demon attacking the vampire den or the attack on the Institute of Busan. Maybe, Wooyoung realized, it would be Choi San.

“I’ll be going too. Thank you for showing us our rooms,” Gunhak said, bowing his head before he disappeared, leaving Wooyoung alone in the corridor.

When the night arrived, Wooyoung awaited the other Shadowhunters to join him in the dinner hall. He felt a little bit like a scolded child as he sat in his usual seat, his hands folded on his lap as he stared at the long table, ready to face Boah and apologize for his harsh words. He grew worried when the only people that arrived were Gunhak, Jimin, and Yerim.

“Where is everyone else?” Gunhak asked, glancing around. He took the seat right in front of Wooyoung, where usually Hyejoo sat. “I thought we were meant to meet everyone tonight.”

“I believed so too,” Wooyoung said distractedly. He was growing worried now, they never had stayed out on a simple mission for this long. As far as he was aware, they only wanted to check out the vampire den and speak with its leader. “Where is San?” he asked then, glancing at Gunhak questioningly.

“He isn’t feeling too well,” Gunhak answered with a shrug.

“Don’t be surprised, my cousin uses that excuse often,” Yerim commented, rolling her eyes. “He might be twenty, but he behaves like an angsty teen going through his emo phase.”

Wooyoung snorted uglily, covering his mouth. That had been unexpected. “He looks like he’d break all your belongings if he heard you say that.”

“Oh, I would,” came San’s voice from the door. They startled upon his arrival, whipping their heads around at once. Yerim grinned cheekily at him, whereas Wooyoung felt a bit flustered, his heart rate going way too fast to be normal—or healthy.

San was dressed in tight leather pants and a ripped black t-shirt with a white logo on top that Wooyoung didn’t know the meaning of. The most astonishing thing about his appearance weren’t his black clothes, though, those were normal in the Nephilim world. What Wooyoung couldn’t keep his eyes off of were his heavily coaled eyes, the black liner around them made them pop out more. The dark brown color seemed much darker and at the same time lighter, as if a hundred other shades hid in them. San ran one of his hands through his black and white hair, and Wooyoung noticed his nails were painted black as well, tiny butterflies decorating them. It wasn’t a habit Shadowhunter girls had, painting their nails, much less boys, but somehow San just seemed like one, huge mystery—an alluring one on top.

“But I can’t really be angry at Yerim. It’s her charm,” San continued.

Yerim grinned, holding out her fist for San to bump. He sat down next to Gunhak, which was dangerous Wooyoung realized because now he was forced to look directly at him.

“No charm, you just love me. Admit it,” Yerim said, raising her chin in a jokingly arrogant manner.

San shook his head, pretending to seal his mouth shut with a zipper. It was a very contrasting image from the one Wooyoung had seen earlier, during their arrival. San seemed much calmer and looser, a relaxed grin on his features. Wooyoung let his eyes wander up to the patch of white hair and there was only one thing that could cause that. Of course he wouldn’t ask, but he was terribly curious about it. Another question that begged to roll off his tongue were the butterflies and San’s pointy ears; but again Wooyoung wasn’t going to pry. It was none of his business, really.

“So, where is everyone else?” San asked, directly addressing Wooyoung.

“I really have no idea. They should’ve been back already. I’ll go fetch Youngjae hyung from the study, he should know.” He excused himself and got up from the table, leaving their guests alone in the dinner hall. At least their cook had appeared, filling the table with deliciously looking meals.

Wooyoung didn’t need to seek out Youngjae after all as he bumped into the Institute’s co-head in the corridor. “Wooyoung! I was just looking for you. We’ve got some bad news.”

“What is it, hyung?” Wooyoung asked, feeling his heart drop down to his stomach. “Did someone get hurt?”

“They’re fine. They’re on their way here, but there are complications with the Downworlders and the meeting Boah wanted to arrange to discuss this strange demon attack. A notorious werewolf alpha claimed that this demon was the making of a Nephilim, using scripts from the XIX century that were once supposed to be burned so no one could use them again,” Youngjae explained, out of breath. “I just got a call from Kim Hongjoong, who was kind enough to explain to me what was going on.”

“I don’t understand,” Wooyoung muttered, frowning. “What scripts? What Shadowhunter would create a demon?”

Youngjae let out a long sigh. “Go back to the dining room, I’ll join you soon with Boah and the rest. We will explain everything then. At least what we know.”

Wooyoung nodded, hesitating as he wanted to ask more questions: inquire about what exactly had gone down at the vampire den, but Youngjae was already on his way to the Institute’s entrance, his steps hurried and loud, like they tended to be when he was preoccupied with something. Wooyoung let out a sigh and turned around to walk back to the dinner hall, where he bumped into Hyunjin. She looked worried and scared.

“Is everything alright, Wooyoung-oppa?” she asked, holding onto Wooyoung’s wrist to prevent him from entering the hall. “Did something happen?”

“I’m not sure,” Wooyoung told her, wishing he could soothe her worries. “Youngjae hyung said that no one is hurt, but I think we all might be in danger. Something terrible is upon us.”

Hyunjin’s face clouded in fear and apprehension, she released Wooyoung’s wrist and took in a deep breath before she entered the dinner hall. Wooyoung couldn’t imagine what it must be like to have joined this dangerous world with no knowledge of what horrors lingered around every corner. She barely had had any time to train and learn about the runes, understand their rules and the customs of the Shadow World, and now she was thrown into this madness. Wooyoung wished he had reassuring words to offer her, but he barely had anything to offer himself.

He followed her into the dinner hall, taking his seat.

“They will be here soon,” he announced. “But it appears things have not gone smoothly.”

His words left behind a somber atmosphere, the easy banter silencing down. Jimin sat up straight, worried lines appearing on her forehead.

“Did someone get hurt?” she asked quietly.

“No. Thankfully not.”

“That’s good,” she said. “I hope no one else will befall Eric’s fate,” she added, her eyes shimmering. From what Wooyoung had gathered, the young Shadowhunter that had died during the attack in Busan had been Eric Nam, Jimin’s _parabatai_. Wooyoung had read everything about how painful the death of one’s _parabatai_ was. He couldn’t imagine losing Jongho.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Jimin shook her head, indicating she didn’t want to speak of it.

“Did Youngjae tell you anything?” San asked then, breaking the tense silence.

“He said that the Downworlders are not happy with us right now. Well, not us in particular, but the Nephilim as a collective. Something about some scripts that were meant to be destroyed, but our ancestors didn’t hold their word.”

San scoffed. “Typical.”

Wooyoung shot him a curious glance, his eyes lingering on the pointy ears. There was only one explanation for them and that was that San was the child of a faerie, half-Nephilim only. He didn’t know anything about his story and who exactly his parents were, but Gunhak had said he hadn’t known them. Wooyoung could mildly relate to that.

“Yeah, well, there isn’t much we can do except from stopping this threat and hope the Accords aren’t compromised,” he said lamely.

Despite the dreadful situation, they tried to eat, it was much better facing difficult times with a full stomach rather than an empty one. By the time Boah and Youngjae entered the dinner hall, followed by Jongho and Hyejoo, the young Shadowhunters were long done with the food and just sitting in tense and uncomfortable silence. 

Wooyoung sprung out of his seat when he saw the bad state Jongho was in, blood covering his gear, cuts all over his face. Hyunjin followed suit. Jongho smiled, warily.

“Don’t worry, hyung, it is not mine—well mostly not. We encountered some rampant vampires,” his _parabatai_ explained.

“The sun hasn’t set yet,” Wooyoung said, frowning.

“They—” Jongho started hesitantly. “They were unlike any vampire we’ve ever seen. Hongjoong said he has seen their kind before. The vampire leader was in a grieving state, not of much help…”

Boah marched over to the table furiously. She took her seat by the head of the table, placing her hands on it as she played with her family ring. “I cannot believe they would just hold something so reckless in the archives of the Silent City. I understand Hongjoong’s hesitance to trust us—or any Downworlders’,” she stated, her voice filled with anger.

“Could you perhaps start with the beginning?” Gunhak asked kindly. “I don’t think any of us are quite following.”

“Sorry,” she apologized. “A long time ago a Shadowhunter worked close together with a mundane man and a warlock to create Downworlders that crossed the barriers of what was known. They didn’t behave like they should have, they weren’t what they should have been. Humans turned into demons with Angel and mundane blood, vampires fused with werewolves… There were instructions on how to accomplish these-these abominations of the Shadow World. These scrolls were meant to be destroyed so history wouldn’t repeat itself, but whoever was in charge of that _clearly_ didn’t go through with it. It seems that these scripts were stolen last month and someone has used them, creating these abominations anew. The attack on the Institute of Busan was merely a way to see how well these instructions worked.”

Her rant was followed by a heavy silence, the words slowly sinking into the minds of the Shadowhunters present.

Jimin let out a loud and angry sob, balling her hands into fists. “You mean to tell me Eric died because some-some lunatic decided he wanted to test out some little experiment?”

“I am terribly sorry,” Boah apologized, guilt coloring her face. 

“That’s really _fucked_ up,” Yerim muttered.

“I shall meet with Hongjoong soon and hope he will act as an ambassador for us. I need to arrange a meeting with all important Downworlders in Seoul. I will apologize for the actions of our ancestors and find a quick solution to this,” Boah said decidedly. “Youngjae, please contact the Silent Brothers for me and explain the situation. Ask them who exactly visited the Silent City in the past months.”

“Yes.” Youngjae nodded his head, getting up from the table swiftly.

“As for you all,” Boah said, addressing the young Shadowhunters. “For now keep training and prepare yourselves however best you can. I am not sure how the following days will play out. I will come to you as soon as I get my answers. I want all of you to be present during the meeting with the Downworlders, it will be important.”

“Of course,” Gunhak said, a hum of agreements followed his words.

“If there is anyone that comes to your mind that could’ve stolen the scripts, please tell me,” Boah asked of them. She took in a deep breath, rolling her shoulders, and smoothening the lines on her face. “I apologize that your arrival here isn’t really an alleviation,” she said, biting the insides of her cheek. “Ah, I didn’t even get to introduce myself properly. I’m Kwon Boah, the Head of the Institute of Seoul. I hope, despite the circumstances, that your stay here will be pleasant.”

“Don’t worry, it’s alright. We are very thankful that we can stay here,” Jimin reassured her.

“Yes. We understand that these are difficult times,” San added.

Jongho straightened up from the seat he had taken upon his arrival, swallowing the food he was eating. “I’m Choi Jongho, by the way, sorry for not introducing myself either.”

“Son Hyejoo. Pleased to meet you,” added Hyejoo, bowing her head. “I hope Wooyoung-oppa has not frightened you with his rude manners,” she added, easing some of the tension.

Wooyoung let out an amused huff. “I was actually very nice to them.”

“Doubtful,” Hyejoo muttered.

“I believe you will be in good hands,” Boah said, standing up from her seat. “I have to go now. I hope you’ll have a pleasant night.” She exited the dinner hall in quick strides.

San let out a long sigh. “Well, this was a lot more stressful than I thought it would be. I’m out as well.”

Wooyoung tilted his head curiously. “Where are you going?”

“Venturing into the mundane night scene of course. I cannot really sleep and there is a gig starting in an hour.”

“A what?” Wooyoung asked.

San laughed. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll be back before dawn.”

“Are you sure it is wise to go out during these times?” Wooyoung pressed, frowning at the carelessness San showed. “Shadowhunters aren’t exactly well seen right now.”

“When are they ever?” San got out of his seat in a graceful manner. “Besides,” he added, pointing at his ears, “I blend in well with the Downworlders.”

Once San was out of the dinner hall, Yerim leaned forward, looking directly at Wooyoung. “He is half-faerie, if you were wondering.”

“I was not!” Wooyoung lied, scoffing. 

“Sure you weren’t.” She shot him a cocky smirk, standing up as well. “I better follow him so he doesn’t do something stupid.”

Jongho put down his cutlery, moving his chair away from the table, it scraped horribly against the floor. “Well, this has been a day. I need to sleep for like, fifty hours. Good night!”

“I’ll come with,” Wooyoung said, following his _parabatai_ out of the dinner hall. Once they were alone he grabbed Jongho’s wrist to stop him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Jongho sighed. They never had been able to hide much from one another, whether it was their _parabatai_ bond or the fact that they were close friends didn’t matter much, they were _one_.

“I’m not sure, hyung. It was… haunting. The way these vampires looked and moved. I-I have to admit that I am afraid. Not just for us but the future of the Nephilim and Downworlders alike. If we don’t catch the culprit soon, I’m scared of what might follow.”

“We will get to the bottom of this. We will catch whoever stole the scripts and is meddling with dark affairs.”

“I don’t know, hyung. I really hope so, I do, but I—” He broke down, a sob tearing through him. He let himself fall against Wooyoung, his body tensing up at the same time as his shoulders sagged. Wooyoung wrapped his arms around his frame, hugging him tightly.

“It’ll be alright,” he assured Jongho.

**~*~**

**Seoul, October 15th 2019**

It was a rainy night when the meeting with the Downworlders was held.

The Institute of Seoul was once again open for a chain of guests to filter through the main entrance. Hongjoong had helped get the Downworlders to agree to the meeting, to which Boah was eternally grateful. Wooyoung stood with her by the door of the room where the meeting would be held together with Jongho, Hyejoo, and Youngjae; the other young Shadowhunters were already inside the room, seated by the back row as Downworlders of all kinds took their seats, chattering loudly among themselves.

Wooyoung spotted a few familiar faces: there was Ravn, the High Warlock of Jongno; Seo Changbin, one of the three major alphas in Seoul; and Kim Namjoon, a very notorious vampire leader whose age was unknown, some said he had been around since the beginning of time, witnessing the creation of the Nephilim. No one could say for certain. Wooyoung was fascinated.

His eyes fell on San then, who was seated in between Yerim and Gunhak. Wooyoung wondered how he was feeling, being partly a Downworlder. Over the past few days, he had learned very little about San, only that he was part-faerie, that his mother had been the one to give him his faerie blood, and his father had been murdered by an angry Seelie who didn’t think well of relations in between someone from the Seelie Court and a Nephilim.

It certainly was a rough childhood and backstory to deal with, Wooyoung could only sympathize. He had grown up to a dead father and a mother that didn’t quite want him too. Despite their similarities, Wooyoung hadn’t really found the time to bond with San. He was intimidating and liked to keep to Yerim, Gunhak, and Jimin, not really bothering to get to know the Shadowhunters of Seoul.

Jongho had said to give him time, they had only arrived a few days ago and gone through a very traumatic experience. Wooyoung supposed he was right, so he gave San time to adjust. But he really did want them to become friends.

Boah eyed the Downworlders that filtered into the conference room with a tight smile, she knew they weren’t fond of her kind, even less now, but she knew as well that it weren’t her crimes and she was there for a better world. One where Nephilim and Downworlders could see eye to eye—be equal. 

A young vampire approached her, his skin looking a sick pale white due to the witchlight. He bowed his head, smiling politely. Hongjoong followed behind him. She had seen him before, when visiting the vampire den that got attacked.

“I am here to replace my leader, representing our den. He couldn’t make it. He is still grieving and doesn’t hold very fond memories of this place… or Nephilim.”

Boah nodded. “Very well.”

“My name is Lee Seoho. It is nice to officially meet you, Boah-ssi.” He extended his hand towards her.

“Likewise.” She took his hand, it was icy cold to the touch, which shouldn’t surprise her, but it was always staggering. “I am very sorry for the losses you’ve endured. I didn’t know it was this hard for a vampire leader to lose his kind.”

Seoho smiled sadly. “I’m sure he is sad about our recent losses, but that isn’t the reason for his still ongoing grieve.”

“Oh,” she exhaled, feeling embarrassed. The implications of Seoho’s statement caused her heart to feel heavy. “I’m very sorry.”

“The first people you lose while you get to live your immortal life are the hardest to forget,” Hongjoong commented. “Immortality is not an easy thing to endure.”

“Does it ever get easier?” Wooyoung wondered. Boah shot him a warning look. “Sorry,” the young Shadowhunter mumbled. “That was probably insensitive.”

Hongjoong chuckled. “Don’t fret about it. As for your question, I cannot answer that. For me, it depends on the attachment I’ve had on the mortal. With some it does get easier to forget, with others… It still hurts. For example, the very first Nephilim friends I made—back in 1899—it pains me to remember them. You remind me of one of them a lot. For obvious reasons.” He smiled wistfully.

Wooyoung opened his mouth to ask what the warlock had meant, but Boah moved to the front of the room to start the meeting, ending any conversation that was happening around the conference room. Wooyoung would have to ask another time.

**~*~**

> _Seoul_
> 
> _October 16th 2019_
> 
> _Dear Boah,_
> 
> _I was hesitant to ask this favor before, as I wasn’t sure where your thoughts regarding the Downworlders lay, but after today’s events I believe I have reasons to trust you with this._
> 
> _It is my knowledge that a long time ago, during the late XIX century, the Institute of Seoul was led by Jung Hoseok and his sister, Heejin. I personally knew Heejin’s son, Jung Yunho. We were close acquaintances. I am aware he was shunned by the Nephilim community after what happened in December of 1899, but my sources tell me he was buried on the grounds of the Institute of Seoul instead of the Silent City, please correct me if I am wrong._
> 
> _The favor I want to ask of you is simple: I would like to visit his grave, if that is possible, to pay my respects. He died very suddenly in 1918 due to a mundane sickness that went around and I never got to bid my farewell properly._
> 
> _I await your answer, hoping it will be positive._
> 
> _Signed,_
> 
> _Hongjoong_


	4. Unusual Alliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It is settled then, I accompany you on your little adventures through New York,” Seonghwa said, reaching out his hand to shake Hwanwoong’s. “I am glad to see at least one of you is sensible enough, Mr Yeo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heads up, chapters will start to become longer, around 10k-ish, hope y'all vibe with that lmao

**New York, October 30th 1899**

Within the many walls of the Institute one would think there was no space for boredom and becoming crazy, but Yeosang had the living proof that one could indeed turn a little mad. His soul was itching to leave the Institute and go on a mission, preferably concerning the demon problem, which didn’t seem to advance in the slightest.

After the ambush three days ago, the Shadowhunters were being cautious: Park Jinhyuk was being careful in sending out parties to track down other Downworlder inns in case there would be another ambush. He completely ignored Irene’s words, trying to take control of the Institute, and it sucked, considering that the only Shadowhunters that listened to Irene were Yeosang, Mingi, and Hwanwoong, and they were deemed as too incompetent to act on this mission. Yeosang was close to tearing down the entire Institute—the only thing that held him back was the fact that it wouldn’t do Irene any favor either.

The young Shadowhunter was currently in the training room, trying to perfect his aim with knives. There wasn’t anything else for him to do aside from training, really. He’d much rather entertain himself with that before joining Mingi and Hwanwoong in the library to do some reading about this demon attack, using Hongjoong’s little information to try and crack this riddle. Training was also ten times better than any other room as he might bump into Seonghwa, and he really did not see himself holding back from launching a punch at the older Shadowhunter. 

For some unfathomable reason, Seonghwa rarely went into the training room, preferring the little patio in front of the Institute, where he would go early in the morning to move his body in slow and precise movements, without his seraph sword. Yeosang wondered how that even could be classified as training, but naturally Jinhyuk never said anything.

It didn’t come as a surprise when Yeosang’s training was interrupted by Irene, dragging Mingi and Hwanwoong behind her. She closed the door and checked the room.

“Is there anyone else here?” she asked Yeosang, craning her neck to get better access.

“No,” Yeosang answered, putting away the knives to join his friends. They looked confused and alarmed.

“Did something happen?” Hwanwoong asked, concerned.

Irene shook her head.

“I got a letter from Mr Kim,” she revealed, pulling out a piece of paper from underneath her button up, which was tucked into her pants. “He said he found some information about the mundane that contacted him. His name is Wallace Grant. He was born in 1868. He is an Irish man that came tp New York in 1878 as a mere boy after his father’s passing. There were scarcely documents of his family. He worked by Sunset Park, down at the docks as a fisherman,” she explained, her eyes roaming over the letter. “He got involved with mundane occultism about three years ago, finding out about the Downworld through an inn where vampires feed on humans regularly.”

Hwanwoong pulled a face. “Typical.”

“Mr Grant started visiting Downworlder parties through a vampire that quite favored him. He was introduced to warlocks and demons, and everything in between. He… He learned about us—Shadowhunters—during that time. Mr Kim was not very clear on the details, but apparently Mr Grant wanted to become a Shadowhunter.” 

Yeosang laughed, amused. “You cannot be serious.”

Irene shot him a look. “Oh, I certainly am.”

“What a joke.”

“Remember that you are partly mundane, too, Yeo,” Mingi muttered, side glancing at him. “Jonathan was once mundane, too, before he became the first Shadowhunter.” 

Yeosang rolled his eyes, not further commenting on it.

“Mr Kim’s source could not find out more on how that went for Mr Grant, but I think we all can imagine the details…” Irene walked towards a set of unlit candles standing in the far end of the training room, by the fireplace, and lit one so she could burn the letter. It flared up brightly, her face dancing with the shadows of the flames. She threw the letter into the fireplace letting it be consumed until it was only ashes, for no one to know its details except for herself. “But Mr Kim did find us a way to find out more about this Wallace Grant.”

Yeosang perked up at that, all his previous thoughts about going mad and throwing fists at Seonghwa vanishing within the blink of an eye. “Do tell us.”

“It turns out Downworlders favor the presence of mundanes more than we do and Mr Grant has gained quite a reputation within Downworlders in these past three years. From what Mr Kim gathered, Wallace Grant, uh,” she looked uncomfortable, scratching her elbow, “finds willing humans that vampires can feed on, that demons can take advantage of, and that warlocks can perform experimental magic on.” She gritted her teeth, clearly hating the idea of this.

“When you say willing humans…” Hwanwoong repeated, uncertain. A frown pulled between his eyebrows, they were all thinking what he was thinking.

“They are people off the streets with no will to live, ready to give up misery for _anything_. Even if it means death. They just want an escape,” Irene clarified bitterly.

“What a bad egg,” Mingi muttered under his breath, shaking his head in disappointment.

“He is down right evil. I would not be surprised if he came from the last circle of Hell!” Yeosang exclaimed, scoffing.

Irene hummed, brushing a loose strand of hair aside, gently tugging it behind her ear. She stared at the three boys in front of her, a long sigh escaping her lips. It was clear she had a troubling query to ask.

“I would not be asking this of you if it were not for how that cretin—Pardon, Mr Park,” she corrected herself, blushing at her outburst. Yeosang grinned, pleased. “He has gone completely mad, saying we must be careful and wait out for their next strike… Since when is it a Shadowhunter’s trait to wait? If they managed to create a demon that can pass through the Institute’s wards, who knows what might be next?!”

“Are you sure Mr Park is here to actually help us?” Yeosang inquired. “He has always been after the position as the Head of an Institute—”

“Do _not_ throw such an accusation around so loosely,” Irene chastised him. “We nearly lost a Shadowhunter during the ambush. He is looking after us. I just fail to see it is reason enough to paralyze the entire Institute.”

“What are you thinking, then?” Hwanwoong asked.

“You three will go out tonight to the place Mr Kim mentioned in his letter. It is an abandoned room near Sunset Park—more accurately an office—where Mr Grant apparently lived while he was still working down by the docks, before he gained richness through his connections with the Shadow World,” Irene explained, her voice quiet. “I know I should not ask this of you, especially since Mr Park was assigned as the leader of this mission, but he will not listen to reason… I am certain Mr Kim is telling the truth; why go through all this trouble just to lie?”

“What will you tell Mr Park in case we are found out?” Hwanwoong wondered, but he was nodding his head, already thinking about the best way to sneak out of the Institute now that it was filled with too many Shadowhunters.

“I…” Irene hesitated, her eyes flitting over to Yeosang.

Yeosang let out a long sigh, a grin pulled at his lips. “Ah, I see.”

“You can refuse!” Irene told him, her eyes earnest and full of guilt and shame. “I would understand.”

“It is fine. They already think I am a scoundrel anyway. This fits the story line perfectly.”

“We will make sure not to get caught and be back before sunrise,” Mingi reassured her. “We will have to walk though. Taking the horses would be too much of a hassle.”

“You know I fancy those long walks through the night,” Yeosang chirped, his mood positively brighter at the prospect of not just going out on a mission, but breaking the rules _and_ going against Jinhyuk too.

“You are impossible,” Irene said, but she smiled gratefully at him.

“Yes. We all know about your sprees, Yeo,” Mingi said under his breath, earning himself a jab in his rips by Yeosang’s elbow.

“I do remember you joining me once, too loaded to tell your lefts from your rights,” Yeosang said, grinning when Mingi tried to deny this. They ended up head-locking each other, Yeosang rubbing Mingi’s head playfully with his fist.

Hwanwoong glared at them before he settled his gaze on Irene again. “Do not worry, Irene. We will part once the moon is up.”

She nodded her head. “Thank you. Be careful. Even if I do decide to trust Mr Kim on this information, we cannot be too sure…”

Yeosang sobered up, detaching himself from Mingi. 

“I do believe him,” he said.

“I thought you did not like him,” Hwanwoong said, tilting his head curiously.

“I changed my mind!”

The moon was just a sigil up in the sky, something so small and breakable, easily covered up by the wall of clouds that lingered in the back of the sky, way over where Gravesend Bay was. It wouldn’t surprise Yeosang if thunder would crack over their heads once they reached Sunset Park. 

It was easy sneaking out of the Institute, after spending so many years there, they had found ways and paths to lead them to the main door without being found out. It was rather challenging now as there were Shadowhunters lingering around every corner, but they made it outside safely and undetected. With the night and their Glamour runes as their cover, they moved silently through New York’s streets until the familiar area around Sunset Park spread out in front of them. 

Yeosang wondered what it was about this particular area that drew demonic and Downworlder activity to it, there wasn't anything there for the naked eyes—or his studied Shadowhunter ones. It looked like any other bay area around the city, with the dark waters and silent boats moving from one side to another; with criminal activity and drunken men swaying around… There wasn’t anything peculiar about Sunset Park, yet they found themselves there _again_ for unusual activity. 

Yeosang wondered then if that warlock they had killed over a week ago was linked in any way to Wallace Grant. Couldn’t be a coincidence, he decided. Not many coincidences happened in the Shadow World, that wasn’t how any of them worked—Nephilim or Downworlder.

 _Evil will be upon you_ , was what they had found written on the wall and what the warlock had said as her parting words. At the time he had believed it was just an evil warlock’s rambling, constantly threatening the Nephilim’s kind, but now Yeosang wasn’t so sure anymore; maybe there had been something more to those words.

He thought of the entity that had entered the Institute, about the story Hongjoong had told them, and the information Irene had provided them about the mundane trying to become a Shadowhunter. Strange and diabolical things were unfolding in the Shadow World, he was sure of it.

“This should be it,” Hwanwoong mumbled, jerking his chin in the direction of a very abandoned looking one story house, the kinds that sailors used to stay in for a night if the inn’s were all booked. It was hidden between many others down by the bay, surrounded by nothing suspicious. “Mr Kim told Irene that Mr Grant was not using it anymore, we should be in the clear.”

Yeosang kept quiet, tilting his head as he stared at the door of the office. It was too easy, way too easy. Mr Grant, although he was a power hungry mundane, didn’t really give the impression of a foolish man, especially not if he had managed to create something demonic that could walk through the protective wards at the Institute.

“I scarcely trust this,” Yeosang said, squinting his eyes at the night’s darkness around them. He couldn’t make out any lingering shadows spying on them. With a sigh he drew the Unlocking rune on the office’s door, opening it cautiously.

It was darker inside somehow, but thanks to their Night Vision runes it was no trouble maneuvering around the dust covered floor, scattered tables and chairs around, and the occasional out of place object (such as a broken lantern standing inside a sink or a top-hat perched on a tower of books near the entrance). 

They made their way inside and at first glance there didn’t seem to be any sign of something demonic having occurred in there, but upon closer inspection Yeosang could see different warlock markings on the wall by the far end, where a torn curtain separated that area from the rest of the office. Hwanwoong approached the curtain, drawing it aside. All furniture had been moved to the walls and on the ground there were more warlock drawings, something that seemed to have served as a summoning for a demon. Inconspicuous and worrying dark splatters spread out on the ground. 

The three Shadowhunters exchanged a mildly worrying look.

“I most definitely hate this,” Mingi muttered as he walked closer to let his fingers travel over the warlock drawings on the walls, memorizing them. They were quite unusual, not some they had seen before.

Yeosang crouched down, retrieving his witchlight to shine some light on the splatters. Even in the white shimmer he could make out the dark—nearly brown—red color they had; blood. It had to be a few weeks old. The more they uncovered the mess, the clearer it was that something terrible—and most likely illegal to the Accords—had taken place in this office.

“What do you think?” Hwanwoong asked them while he was going through a stack of papers that had been discarded in a hasty way on a small table in the corner of the room, a mountain of old and dirty clothes next to it. He blew off some dust, holding them close to his face so he could read them.

“I am not sure,” replied Mingi. “Something definitely happened though. I just cannot figure out the details.”

“Demon summoning, sacrifices, unknown drawings…” Yeosang listed. “This is all very odd. I would say ol’ Wallie tried something that obviously went wrong, but it did not stop him…”

“Clearly it did not,” Hwanwoong said, scrunching up his nose. “These are entries. They seemed to have been ripped out of a diary. We should take them and read them, although I am not sure of how much use they will be if they were left behind. That seems _extremely_ careless.”

“Too careless,” Yeosang agreed. “But maybe they will give us a closer look into that man’s mind. You know, understand your enemies to…” he gestured his hand in the air, hoping he was making sense.

“Yeah.” Hwanwoong nodded his head, putting the ripped diary pages into his satchel. “Mingi, help me carry them, I cannot fit them all.”

Yeosang watched his friends for a moment before he focused his eyes on the room again. It felt off that it was so perfectly dusty and old, something about the mess in it gave him an impression it was all fake: to be found and inspected by them, leading them straight to a trap. It couldn’t be that they’d find this place with all the proof right there. A warlock could easily track the markings on the wall. It just seemed too easy.

“I do not trust this,” he repeated himself, stomping the tip of his boot against the splatters of blood on the floor, they stayed in place. It made him frown. Despite that the blood was old, he was convinced it would peel off with that action, but it hadn’t. He crouched down again, sticking out his index finger.

“ _Yeosang_ ,” Mingi protested, his voice whiny and filled with disgust. “Do _not_ touch that!”

But Yeosang ignored him, running his fingertip over it, at first hesitantly, but at the odd and smooth feeling of it he grew bolder. He ran his finger over the dust covered ground, it felt exactly the same.

“I refuse to think this is blood,” he announced, huffing out an empty laugh. He looked up at Hwanwoong and Mingi, shaking his head as a deprecating grin fought its way onto his face. “I have reason to assume we were all tricked. This,” he moved his hand around, gesturing at the area around them, “was all to trick us into believing something happened here.”

“You think Mr Kim led us here on purpose to—what? We were not ambushed…” Hwanwoong argued, huffing in disbelief at Wooyoung’s words. “Though, I will admit, this is all very ominous and odd.”

“I do not know what Mr Kim’s plans are or if he was the one to trick us,” Yeosang said, standing up. “But I do believe this is a set up.”

“We should play into it,” Mingi said, holding one of the diary entries, his eyes scanning over the words written on it. “Whoever set this up has a story they want to tell us, even if it may be misleading, I think there could be some truth to all of this. Like a—” he struggled to find the right words.

“A play,” Hwanwoong supplied, a frown on his face as he ran his index finger over his bottom lip, deep in thought.

“Exactly.”

“Do you believe this is Wallie’s making? He knew we were coming and… What? Decided to show us a little glimpse into his past or something?” Yeosang inquired, glancing at Hwanwoong and Mingi.

“Stop calling him Wallie,” Mingi said, grimacing, at the same time as Hwanwoong said, “Yes, possibly.”

“He is a mundane, they have different practices and ways of going about crime than Downworlders or… Shadowhunters,” the oldest continued. “He could be trying to have his fun with us, in some sick and twisted way.”

“I despise mundanes,” Yeosang stated, pressing his lips together as he eyed the set up scenario around them. The top-hat and lantern made sense now, so perfectly out of place.

“You _are_ their protector,” Mingi pointed out, but he too had a disgusted expression upon his face as he regarded the abandoned place.

“Yes, well, some of them are gruesome. I would rather fight an army of Greater Demons than some sick, little mundane.”

“We should head back. It will take us a while and we should arrive before dawn,” Hwanwoong interrupted them, scanning the office one last time for anything else they might need. His eyes stopped on the top-hat. “Yeo, fetch that, would you? It could come in handy for tracking.”

“I doubt whoever set this up would just leave something to track them down,” Yeosang countered, but he did grab the top-hat from the tower of books.

“Probably not, but it does belong to someone.”

“Fair enough.”

The three Nephilim exited the place, locking the door again behind them. It was raining strongly, lightning hushing through the dark clouds over their heads, and thunder rumbling loudly.

“Splendid,” Mingi muttered as he got completely drenched within seconds.

“Splendid it is,” Yeosang agreed, sighing. “I know this very popular Downworlder inn nearby. They serve some mean shine and the company is fairly charming, we could—”

“Yeosang, _no_ ,” Hwanwoong and Mingi said at the same time. “No offense to your sprees,” Hwanwoong continued, “but we should really get back to the Institute.”

“Another time it is then,” Yeosang said with a yearning sigh. He really could do with some strong drink now and a warm, cozy place, surrounded by a drunken mass of friendly Downworlders.

“I accompanied you on one of your sprees once, never again!” Mingi exclaimed.

Yeosang grinned. “Not my fault you cannot hold your liquor.”

“You are completely insane,” Mingi countered, offended.

If there had been a sun during the thunderstorm, it would rise over the horizon about the time the Shadowhunters got back to the Institute, but instead the sky was still dark and the clouds didn’t seem to lessen. They didn’t care when they walked into the Institute completely drenched and cold, all they wanted to do was to get out of these clothes and into their warm comfortable beds until they’d be woken up in a couple of hours for breakfast.

It was just their luck when they got intercepted by none other than Seonghwa on their way towards the staircase that led to the upper chambers.

“What an interesting and much awaited appearance,” Seongwha muttered, appraising them with an intrigued expression. “What would Miss Bae say if she heard about it?”

Yeosang opened his mouth, but shut it close immediately. Irene wasn’t meant to know about it, just as clueless as the rest of them.

“Do not tell her,” Hwanwoong said, his voice just the necessary amount of guilty and terrified. “We only went to…” he trailed off, glancing at his companions.

“We went to blow off some steam down by the docks, nothing unusual. Just having some fun,” Yeosang helped him out, grinning broadly at Seonghwa. “Not that you would understand any of that, Mr Park.”

“Nonsense!” Seonghwa squinted his eyes. “I shall tell my father about this.”

“No!” Mingi exclaimed, stepping forward. “No, you cannot!” he insisted, which made Seonghwa frown in confusion. He regarded the three with a suspicious look. 

“Why not? He would be delighted to know what kind of shenanigans you get up to at nighttime. Miss Bae surely has failed to discipline you—”

His words made Yeosang angry and in a blind fit of rage he surged forward, pushing Seonghwa hard and making him stumble backwards, his words getting cut off.

“How about you shut your mouth, gib face?” he hissed, angrily staring at the older Shadowhunter. “You will not tell your father and you will not tell Irene. This stays between us!”

Seonghwa stared at him with a searching expression. A haughty grin formed on his face then. “What is holding me back from telling both of them? I think some sort of incentive is required here if you want me to cooperate, Mr Kang.”

Yeosang groaned, already readying himself to launch a punch at Seonghwa. He couldn’t stand his arrogant and perfectly symmetrical face, it was irritating and only filled him with rage. Hwanwoong moved his hand to hold Yeosang’s forearm, his grip tight.

“What kind of incentive were you thinking, Mr Park?” Hwanwoong asked, his voice strained. Yeosang turned around, disbelief coloring his face.

“You cannot seriously be considering—”

“Shut up, Yeo,” Mingi hissed.

“He is the enemy!” Yeosang protested, but he quietened down when it was clear he was alone with this argument.

“On your next trip to ‘blow off some steam’,” Seonghwa began, using his fingers to cast quotation marks around the words, “I would like to be invited.”

“No way!” Yeosang said, shaking his head. Hwanwoong and Mingi stayed quiet, regarding Seonghwa with the same sort of blank and considering looks. It was a _parabatai_ thing, Yeosang assumed, not that he would know anything about that. He didn’t have a _parabatai_. “Seriously?” he whined.

“Unless, of course, you weren’t chatting up Downworlder women with loose morals,” Seonghwa continued, a gleam in his eyes that promised nothing good. Yeosang balled his hands into fists, clenching them. He wanted to punch him so badly.

“What are you implying?” Hwanwoong asked.

Dawn was approaching, soon the corridors would be flooded by Shadowhunters and everyone would know they had sneaked out. 

“Miss Bae is undermining my father and holding a secret investigation regarding this curious demon activity,” Seonghwa said, convinced.

The tension cackled between the four Shadowhunters. Yeosang let out loud laughter, slapping his knee in fake glee. He glanced at Hwanwoong and Mingi with wide eyes.

“You are quite paranoid, are you not? You should talk with your uncle, get that mind of yours checked.”

Seonghwa glowered at him. “Fine. I will go straight to my father’s chambers,” he said, turning around swiftly.

“Great,” Mingi muttered. “Yeosang you really need control your words!”

“It is not my fault he is a—”

“Do not finish that,” Hwanwoong advised him, already jogging after Seonghwa. “Mr Park! Wait!” he called out. Seonghwa stopped, moving his head so he could look at them. “We agree to your terms. Just, do not tell anyone.”

Seonghwa grinned. It was a winning smile—something twisted about it too—and Yeosang feared they had just signed a pact with the Devil. Nothing good would come out of this.

“I hardly approve of this,” he said, getting wholly ignored. He scoffed, pushing the wet hair out of his face.

“It is settled then, I accompany you on your little adventures through New York,” Seonghwa said, reaching out his hand to shake Hwanwoong’s. Seonghwa’s silver family ring stood out starkly against his tan skin, the two swords like an ‘x’ and the dove above them; it clashed against Hwanwoong’s family ring with the three roses. Yeosang stared down, momentarily, at his own fingers—ringless. All of his family heirlooms had been stolen and sold. No one knew where they had ended up. His uncle once had offered to speak with a blacksmith to make Yeosang a new ring, but the young Shadowhunter had declined, it wasn’t the same. He was supposed to wear his father’s ring. “I am glad to see at least one of you is sensible enough, Mr Yeo.”

Yeosang mumbled something insulting under his breath that Seonghwa gracefully ignored.

“I fail to fully understand though,” started Mingi. “Are you not a bit packed with helping your father out with this mission?”

Seonghwa stilled, his shoulders tensing up. He released a long sigh. “To be frank, my father was… disappointed in my performance when we headed out to seek out the Downworlder inns. He said that I might not really be qualified for this,” he explained, not meeting their eyes. He frowned. “I suppose I do not want to feel useless.”

“Groundbreaking,” Yeosang said, scoffing. “I suppose you are not so agreeable, huh?”

“ _Yeosang_ ,” Hwanwoong protested, jabbing his elbow into Yeosang’s ribs. “Can you not play nice for once?”

“Oh, I can. Just not for him.”

“Whatever,” Seonghwa mumbled, turning around to walk down the corridor towards the dinner hall. He stopped, glancing at them over his shoulder. “You should probably get changed quickly and clean up the mess you have left behind if you want your adventure to go by imperceptible,” he said before he entered the hall.

Yeosang looked down at his feet, a puddle of rainwater had formed over the course of the conversation. He let out a sigh. “He is right on that.”

Hwanwoong hummed. “Let’s go.”

After sleeping restlessly for two hours, twisting and turning in his bed, Yeosang decided to head down to the dinner hall for some breakfast. There was no point trying to sleep, he couldn’t stop thinking about their findings and the sick feeling he got thinking about the game Grant was trying to play with them. There was as well the pact they had made with Seonghwa that left an angry and unpleasant feeling in his mind. He did not trust the older Shadowhunter and suspected he was lying; about _what exactly_ Yeosang wasn’t sure yet.

The dinner hall was still full when he got there, to his disappointment his friends weren’t present and instead he found Seonghwa sitting with Yunho and Mina. The leading Shadowhunters weren’t present either, in their daily morning briefing about the situation they were facing. Yeosang would seek out Irene once she was released from her duties to tell her what they had found at the abandoned office Hongjoong had led them to. He did wonder if perhaps the High Warlock of Queens had set them up, working together with Mr Grant after all. Perhaps everything he had told them had been a lie.

Strangely, Yeosang didn’t believe that Hongjoong had lied to them, which he knew was risky and quite naive; believing a Downworlder was against his very nature as a Shadowhunter, but Hongjoong had given him an oddly trustworthy aura. In the past, he had helped out the Nephilim; why should he suddenly change alliances?

With a heavy sigh, he sat down by the table, two seats away from Yunho, and grabbed himself some of the freshly cut bread that he knew Miss López had baked earlier that morning. He smeared butter on top and added a few slices of ham. He bit into it, ignoring the strange lingering gaze Seonghwa was shooting at him. Just because they had made a pact earlier that morning, it didn’t mean Yeosang would suddenly act friendlier towards him.

“Have you heard already, Mr Kang?” Yunho started, leaning over the seats separating them to smile at him in a polite manner. “They have found a promising lead. They are escorting the High Warlock of Queens here for an interrogation.”

Yeosang choked on his breakfast, his eyes widening as he looked over at Yunho. “They are _what_?! But Mr Kim was—” he cut himself off, warily eyeing the three Shadowhunters with him. “Mr Kim is _not_ involved with this,” he settled for saying.

“How would you know?” Seonghwa inquired. “My father reviewed the information he told you and it seems suspicious.”

“He never broke the Law!” Yeosang argued, standing up. He was holding the edge of the table tightly to prevent himself from throwing his breakfast at Seonghwa’s face.

“He is a Downworlder. He hates us Nephilim. I would expect him to jump at the first chance he has to eliminate us, do you not?”

“No.” He shook his head. “We have committed horrible crimes against his kind. Of course he hates us Nephilim.”

Yunho eyed him peculiarly. “Are you friends with him? With other Downworlders?” he asked, but it wasn’t accusatory or degrading, rather curious and interested, as if he admired Yeosang for doing so.

“I would not call him a friend. I have only met him once, but I do think he is innocent.”

“If the Council could hear this…” Seonghwa muttered, shaking his head in disappointment. “Aligning with a warlock.” He scoffed. “What comes next? An intimate relationship with a Downworlder?”

Yeosang grabbed the edge of the table even tighter, hating the condescending tone in which Seonghwa was speaking. Of course, Yeosang had never considered a relationship with a Downworlder before and he couldn’t quite imagine it now either, but he knew many Shadowhunters seeked out warlocks, demons, and faeries for sexual intercourse, discarding them the moment rumors started to spread. They acted disgusted towards the Downworld when necessary, but used them for information and favors. It was twisted.

“You are quite disagreeable,” Yeosang ended up muttering. He sat down again, foregoing his breakfast in favor of jiggling his leg nervously as he tried to think of a way to make the Shadowhunters in charge not commit the mistake of interrogating Hongjoong. He was an important ally and possibly a friend, they couldn’t screw that over.

“Do you really believe he is innocent, cousin?” Mina inquired.

Yeosang looked up at her. Despite their fathers being brothers, they never really had hung out much. The only time Yeosang recalled meeting his cousin was one time in Idris, for the funeral of their grandfather when he had been five years old. He sometimes wished they were closer, that he had gone to live with Mina’s family instead of their eccentric uncle, but now she hung out with Seonghwa and Yunho, and Yeosang felt as though they were further apart than ever.

“Yes, I believe he is.” He stood up again. “I shall convince Mr Park of his innocence. He is about to lose an important ally and source of information for this mission.” He sprinted out of the room. 

“He certainly is passionate,” he heard Yunho say, amused.

“He is a most vexing fool,” Seonghwa argued.

Yeosang ran down the corridor towards the drawing room where the briefings were held. He didn’t bother knocking, and yanked the door open. Irene shot him a wary and angry look, but before she could speak, Jinhyuk stepped forward.

“Mr Kang, what are you doing? This is a private discussion—”

“Do not interrogate Mr Kim. He is innocent!”

Jinhyuk sputtered. “Pardon me? That is not for you to decide, Mr Kang.”

“And neither is it for you, Mr Park,” Yeosang said, taking in a deep breath. He looked at Irene, who had her head tilted. The expression on her face was blank and tired.

“Irene is still the Head of the Institute. The decisions lie in her hands, not yours, Mr Park.” Jinhyuk stayed quiet, but it was obvious he did not appreciate Yeosang’s straightforwardness and words. “It is her who should decide what fate awaits the High Warlock of Queens.”

“Yeosang—please leave,” Irene asked of him, her lips pressed together firmly. There were bags under her eyes and her usually perfectly styled bun looked messy that morning, as if she hadn’t bothered much with her appearance—as if she hadn’t slept all night. With a pang of guilt, Yeosang realized it most likely was because of them. She had stayed awake the night, worrying over them and the duty she had set upon them. “Mr Kim will be interrogated, that is final. I will be the one to interrogate him, though, with the aid of Brother Akoni.”

Yeosang kept eye contact with her for a couple more seconds, trying to understand her decision, before he nodded his head. “I apologize,” he muttered, closing the door behind him.

“Really, Irene,” he heard Jinhyuk say. “You could not even excel at raising these boys with discipline and manners.”

“Quiet, Jinhyuk,” said one of the other Shadowhunters. Yeosang believed it was Dong Sicheng, a notorious Shadowhunter from China. “Raising teenage boys is not an easy task, no matter _who_ executes it. This is not Irene’s fault; it is no one’s. We are not here to discuss the raising of Mr Kang and the other boys, although you do seem rather interested in it, I must say.” Yeosang couldn’t make out Jinhyuk’s quiet answer, but he did hear a loud and indignant gasp. 

There was no point in going back to the dinner hall, he’d just end up fighting Seonghwa, which wasn’t exactly the best course of action. He couldn’t speak with Irene either about their discovery, so Yeosang walked to the training room, but on his way there he stilled. Instead he turned around, decidedly marching down to the Institute’s entrance. He sat down by the stairs, crossing his legs as he waited patiently. As far as he knew Hongjoong hadn’t arrived yet.

“What are you doing here?” came Mingi’s voice about twenty minutes later. He was lingering by the dinner hall, Hwanwoong standing behind him. “Were you kicked out of breakfast for misbehaving?”

“No. I am waiting for Mr Kim. They are going to interrogate him.”

“Really?” Mingi inquired, frowning. “Based on what evidence?”

Yeosang laughed bitterly. “None. He is a Downworlder, that is enough. I cannot believe Irene agreed to it.”

“You know she is put under a lot of pressure by Mr Park and the rest of the Council…” Hwanwoong said, a troubled look crossing his face. “What are you going to tell Mr Kim?”

“I am not sure yet. I hope this will not make him distrust us.”

Hwanwoong hummed. “Tell us once he is interrogated. We can try to sneak into the room next door and listen in.” 

Yeosang nodded his head, watching his friends cross the dinner hall’s threshold. He was alone again, but it didn’t take long until he heard the familiar sound of a carriage approaching. He glanced up at Union Street, where it met with Utica Avenue, and saw the Institute’s carriage making its way towards the gate. One of the Conta twins sat outside together with one of the many foreign Shadowhunters.

Yeosang stood up, he exited the Institute, and waited by the top of the stairs.

When the High Warlock of Queens stepped out of the carriage, there was an annoyed and guarded expression on his face. It changed the moment he spotted Yeosang, a jovial smile replacing all the worried lines.

“Ah, are you my welcoming committee?” he asked.

“I am here to apologize on behalf of—”

“Do not worry, little Nephilim. I have faced worse and made it out alive. I know why they made this decision. I do not endorse it and it certainly makes me feel angry, but I understand it. You should never apologize for crimes that are not made by your hand, Yeosang.” Hongjoong put a reassuring hand on Yeosang’s shoulder, squeezing it once before he was escorted away by the older Shadowhunter. The Conta twin drove the carriage to the stables.

Yeosang stood by the entrance for a moment, assimilating Hongjoong’s words. Something about them cut deep. He wondered if Hongjoong knew anything about him; about any of the Shadowhunters residing in the International Institute of New York and their pasts.

Unconsciously, he ran a hand over the scar by his neck, one that never quite healed. He shook his head, not wanting to think of his parents.

**~*~**

“Do you always have to be so rude towards Mr Kang?” Yunho was asking Seonghwa as they walked down the corridor towards the drawing room, where Jinhyuk was already awaiting them. Mina had already gone to the training room. They were meant to train together that morning, but Jinhyuk had called upon Yunho and Seonghwa for some unfathomable reason.

“He does not exactly make it easy not to be rude to him.”

Yunho rolled his eyes. “We are their guests and you are being quite a terrible one.”

“He is terrible at being a welcoming host,” Seonghwa argued, shrugging his shoulders.

Jinhyuk was already waiting for them in front of the drawing room. He stood alone and a deep frown was between his eyebrows, it vanished the moment he heard them approach.

“Seonghwa. Yunho. Thank you for joining me. As you know Miss Bae is currently interrogating the High Warlock of Queens. I have an important task for you two,” he started. “As soon as the interrogation is over, I want you to bring Mr Kim to my chambers.”

Seonghwa tilted his head. “Why?”

Jinhyuk pulled his lips together. “Do not question me, son.” Yunho eyed them, staying quiet. It was for the best, he didn’t really like Jinhyuk, but he never showed it in front of him. “I do not believe Miss Bae is really equipped to hold an interrogation—not this kind, anyway. I want to interrogate him myself.”

“But—” Seonghwa started, shutting his mouth the moment his father set his eyes on him, irritatedly. “All right.”

“He is a Downworlder. He is associated with the demonic attack in some way, or do you not agree?”

“Yes, father,” Seonghwa said, obediently. “We will bring him to you.”

“Good. I shall be on my way.” He left the two young Shadowhunters. 

Once his footsteps weren’t heard anymore, Yunho let out an irritated sigh. “Is he out of his mind? Going against Miss Bae like this?”

“Well, he is right, is he not? How are we sure Mr Kim is not plotting against us behind our backs?” 

Despite his own words, he thought back to an hour ago, when Yeosang had so fiercely stated he trusted the warlock. Something about it was making Seonghwa hesitant about siding with his father on this. 

“Perhaps, but I believe Miss Bae is more than equipped to see that for herself. This is just one of the many ways your father wants to assess his dominance.”

Seonghwa stayed quiet, thinking back to the conversation he had with his father some days ago. He felt guilty not having told Yunho about it, but he had sworn to not share it with anyone, and he trusted his father, he was his _blood_. Family above anything else, those were the words he lived by.

“Maybe you should join Mina. I can handle this myself,” he said.

Yunho looked at him in disbelief, raising his eyebrows. “Really, Seonghwa?” He scoffed when no answer came. “All right, I will do that. Have fun being your father’s little peon.”

Seonghwa pressed his lips together as he watched Yunho leave him. He knew he’d hear all about it later from Mina and that he’d end up apologizing, but in that moment he just couldn’t handle his best friend speaking of his father like that. Even if he was right and Jinhyuk was playing some power game, trying to yank Irene’s position out of her hands for his own gain.

It wasn’t long until the door of the drawing room opened and out came Irene and Hongjoong, exchanging pleasantries. They halted when they saw Seonghwa leaning against the wall opposite of the door. Irene looked at the young Shadowhunter in confusion, but did not address the reason for his waiting. 

“Oh, do I get my personal escort out of the Institute too?” Hongjoong inquired, smiling politely at Seonghwa.

“It appears you do, Mr Kim,” Irene said, shaking hands with the warlock before she excused herself. 

Hongjoong already was walking towards the direction of the exit, but Seonghwa grabbed the warlock’s forearm. “My father, Park Jinhyuk, would like to have a few words with you.”

Hongjoong chuckled bitterly.

“Of course he does. It was too good to be true that I would be out of these cursed walls so easily. Well then, show me the way, Nephilim.” He gestured at the corridor expanding in front of them, the movement held something haughty and his eyes weren’t as friendly anymore as they had been in Irene’s presence.

Seonghwa began walking, glancing over his shoulders to make sure Hongjoong was following him. Thankfully, they didn’t bump into any Shadowhunters on their way to Jinhyuk’s chambers, and once they stood in front of the wooden door, Seonghwa knocked twice before he grabbed the knob to turn it. He pushed the door open, indicating with his hand that Hongjoong stepped inside. He followed the warlock, closing the door behind himself.

“Father,” he called out.

Jinhyuk, who had been rummaging through his desk drawers, snapped his head up. He smiled politely at Hongjoong, though any sympathy that might have been found in them was purely for showcase, Seonghwa could see right through the layers. It appeared that Hongjoong did so too.

“Park Jinhyuk, is it?” the warlock inquired as he moved to take a seat by the desk. “My name is Kim Hongjoong, although I assume you already know that.”

“Indeed I do.” Jinhyuk retrieved a small, wooden box with swirling inscriptions on top of it. When he opened it, Seonghwa was surprised to see a set of cigars inside with a matching box. He didn’t know his father had picked up such a mundane habit. “Fancy one?” he asked, offering one of the cigars to Hongjoong.

“I suppose it would be rude to decline,” the warlock took the cigar out of Jinhyuk’s fingers, placing it between his lips. “It has been a while since I have done this, pardon me if I cough up some.”

Jinhyuk smiled insincerely. “Seonghwa, you may leave.”

Seonghwa hesitated by the door.

He had thought he would be part of the conversation. He obeyed, not wanting to speak against his father in front of Hongjoong, he knew it wouldn’t be wise. He bowed his head and left the room, anger coursing through him. It wasn’t fair that his father still treated him like a child. He was nineteen and had proven himself more than once to be capable of taking tough decisions, of being part of the adult world.

His mother would probably agree with him. He hadn’t seen her in a while and missed her dearly, but after all it had been her idea for Seonghwa to travel around the world to explore the different Institutes and the different cultures. The last Institute he had stayed at had been the one in Tehran. 

It would take a while before Hongjoong was to be released of Jinhyuk’s grasps, so Seonghwa decided to head to the training room to train with Yunho and Mina. He hoped he wouldn’t bump into Yeosang there, that was the last thing he needed.

**~*~**

The hall brimmed with life that lunch. It was still staggering compared to the blessed silence that usually reigned, before all the Shadowhunters from around the world had arrived.

Only the boys’ loud chatter had filled the four walls, with Irene’s occasional input or scorning. There had been a time, before Irene’s brother had been sent to the Silent City, when his jokes and stories of New York—around the time he and Irene first had arrived to the city—had filled the air. But now no one dared to speak his name out loud, the shame and guilt of his actions too recent and painful still to be worded. Out of respect, Yeosang, Mingi, and Hwanwoong had agreed to not speak of him in front of Irene, they couldn’t imagine what it must have been for her to be betrayed like that by her own blood.

“Why does Mr Park have to sit at the same table as us?” Yeosang hissed, grabbing the jug of wine to fill his goblet. He’d need it. “There are four other tables at his disposal.”

Hwanwoong sighed, not even bothering to say something.

“If I could get a dime for every time you have asked that these past days, I would be a rich man,” Mingi muttered. He glanced over at Seonghwa, Yunho, Mina, and Jinsoul, who were seated at a fair distance from them. “I trained with Yunho earlier, he is not too bad.”

“And if _I_ could get a dime for each time you have mentioned Yunho not being bad company, I certainly would be richer than you,” Yeosang countered, grinning cheekily when Mingi shot him a bothered look.

“Doubtful.” Mingi cut his cutlet into pieces, fiddling with his fork as he glanced at the strangers once again. “Do you reckon Yunho and Mina are involved?”

Yeosang choked on his wine, his eyes widening. “How are you asking me such a thing? Mina is my cousin!”

“Well, they are one of the few _parabatai_ that are not two men… It is odd,” Mingi pointed out. “I am merely curious.”

“Oh, my. Are you saying we should gossip?”

“Oh, be quiet, you.”

Hwanwoong cleared his throat. “I sincerely doubt they are involved. Mina seems rather bewitched by Jinsoul,” he said ominously.

Yeosang’s skin prickled. “What could you mean by that?”

Hwanwoong shrugged. “It is but an observation.”

Now that Hwanwoong had mentioned it, Yeosang could see it. Mina had all her attention on Jinsoul, hanging from the words spilling out of the girl’s lips, a scarily adoring look on her face. It did make Yeosang wonder. But most likely it was just friendship, he knew bosom friends were often close and exchanged many tender and gentle touches. Now, if two men were to show such affection, _that_ would be staggering. Not that Yeosang would know anything about that.

“Why were you asking anyway, Mingi?” Hwanwoong wondered, glancing at his _parabatai_ curiously. “Do you perhaps fancy Mina?”

Mingi sputtered, shaking his head vehemently. He looked at Yeosang with wide eyes. “No! I was just curious.”

“I suppose if you were to marry Mina, we would be considered family. That is a nice thought,” Yeosang said, shrugging. He and Mingi never had touched on the subject of girls, at least not beyond some shared stories about flirting and kissing, they never had spoken about whether or not there were girls they’d settle down with in the future. How would they? It had always just been the three boys and Irene—and her brother—in the Institute, and Irene was more like a big sister to them than someone they’d consider in marriage. The thought even made Yeosang grimace.

“I am not marrying your cousin!” Mingi hissed, his voice low as he glanced at Mina worriedly. “Can we drop this topic?”

“Do you not want to be my family?” Yeosang asked in faux hurt. He clutched his shirt, where his heart lay, and pretended to sob into his other hand. 

“You are most insufferable!”

Hwanwoong let out a long sigh as he watched Mingi and Yeosang play fight, an affection smile growing on his face, despite the tough and mature image he tried to portray these days.

He had always been the more sensible one out of the group, wanting to become Consul in the future, but ever since the swarm of Shadowhunters from around the world had arrived, that mature and disciplinary side of his had become more visible. Especially considering that the son of the current Consul was seated not that far from them, and Hwanwoong believed he needed to make a good impression.

“ _Boys_.” They turned around to see Irene standing a few feet away from the table. She looked better than she had in the morning, but there seemed to be something troubling her. “Please come into the study once finish eating. I have matters to discuss with you.” 

“Of course,” Yeosang said, sobering up. “We will come right away.”

They hadn’t had a chance to speak with her about their findings and discovery related to the abandoned office of Wallace Grant yet. They had skimmed through some of the diary entries just after breakfast and before training, but a lot of it just resembled the scribbles of a madman nearing the unavoidable trip into his personal Hell.

They didn’t know if those entries were written by Mr Grant, but if they were, Yeosang wouldn’t be surprised if the man was completely crazy and daffy.

“Uh, oh,” came an unfamiliar voice. Yeosang turned to the source of it, hiding the ugly twist of his mouth. Yunho was grinning at them in what seemed to be a friendly way, but Yeosang couldn’t help but notice the glare Seonghwa was giving him from behind Yunho. “Did you do something to get in the soup?” Yunho inquired, waggling his eyebrows.

Yeosang wondered if it came so easily to Yunho to be friendly towards everyone because his father was the Consul, and he must have attended many fancy dinners with important Shadowhunters, learning how to socialize from an early age. Or if Yunho was simply a friendly and agreeable person.

“Irene would never scold us,” Yeosang said, matter-of-factly.

“That is the biggest lie you have ever told, without a doubt.” Mingi snorted, it was a strange sound, very unlike him. Almost as if he was overly giddy and couldn’t hold back his excitement. “Especially since she always scolds you.”

“Way to backstab me here,” Yeosang muttered, kicking his friend’s shin under the table. He watched with interest the little glance Mingi shot Yunho, smiling in a strangely secretive way, as if he thought no one else would catch it except for Yunho. But Yeosang had seen it. “And to think you used to be terrible at wielding a blade.”

Mingi snapped his eyes towards him, glowering.

“I thought he was a quite magnificent fighter when we trained earlier,” Yunho said. “Not like anyone I have seen before.”

“You should see him out on mission,” Yeosang said, a low chuckle escaping him. “He always begs me to go first because he is scared—” His words got cut off when Mingi kicked him in his shin now, much stronger than Yeosang had done before, and he let out a loud yelp, leaning down to rub his leg as he glared at his friend. “What was that for?”

“I am not sure what you are talking about,” Mingi said nonchalantly. His cheeks were dusted a faint pink. “We should not make Irene wait.” He stood up, the chair scraping loudly on the stone floor, and he nearly fell as he stumbled away from the table.

“That was… odd,” Hwanwoong commented as he got out of his chair as well, looking at Yeosang in wonderment.

“He is _your_ _parabatai_ , you should know.”

Hwanwoong refrained himself from answering, simply opting to roll his eyes.

When they reached the Head’s study, it looked different from the last time Yeosang had found himself in there, on the night Irene’s brother had been sent to the Silent City. All traces of him were gone now and it looked rather bleak. Irene didn’t like to spend much time there, that was clear.

“Sorry that we could not meet earlier, there was simply too much going on,” she apologized when her three boys entered the study.

“There really was,” Yeosang agreed. “Am I correct to assume Mr Kim made it home safely?”

“Yes. He sent me a letter the moment he reached his apartment in Queens, but he was furious that Mr Park went over my authority and behind my back to interrogate him separately. Granted, Mr Kim did not tell him much.”

“Mr Park did _what_?!” Yeosang asked, swaying forward with the intense wave of anger that coursed through him.

“He should not have done that. It was not necessary, but I suppose he really does not respect you,” Hwanwoong said, the corners of his lips pulled downwards in an angry scowl. “What will you do regarding him?”

“I am not sure. He is a powerful man and I…” Irene trailed off, lulling her head back where it hit the chair’s headrest. She let out a sigh. “After everything with Hajoon, it has been very hard gaining the trust of the Council back. And now, this demonic entity that trespassed the Institute’s wards under my watch. I feel as though I am losing the little pinch of power I believed I had. Any wrong choices, any words out of place, and I might be removed as Head of the Institute.”

“No,” Mingi said decidedly. “We will not let that happen.”

Irene smiled kindly at him. “You do not have the power to decide that.”

“We will get to the bottom of this,” Yeosang argued. “Do not fret over Mr Park, we will catch him red handed!”

“Red handed in what?” Hwanwoong scoffed. “He is a very well known and respected Shadowhunter—and member of the Council.”

“Every powerful man has secrets that lead them to their downfall.”

“Boys, I appreciate you trying to help me, but I cannot cause any unnecessary havoc to your lives. Please let me deal with this alone,” Irene interrupted their banter, rubbing her temples as she stared at them with affectionate eyes. “This is not the reason why I called you here. Tell me about what you found at the abandoned office.”

The boys began retelling their findings of the night and what their thoughts were regarding it: what Mr Grant might be up to, and how it was entangled with the demonic entity that had passed through the wards. Irene listened patiently, nodding her head. She scribbled down some details on a discarded piece of paper that, from the looks of it, once was meant to be a letter that never got sent, its words crossed out hastily. Yeosang could make out the name Hajoon on the top of it, and his heart sunk a bit. Despite his actions, Irene still believed there was good in her brother, something worth holding on to. 

“I spoke with Mr Kim after the interrogation,” she said once they were done. “He commented that one of his sources, an entrusted vampire friend of his, said that there was an increase in mundanes getting turned, but that they were not behaving like regular vampires. This problem might extend onto the entire Shadow World, not just mundanes who bear demon blood, however that might even be possible.”

“Vampires?” Yeosang echoed. He thought back to the rampant vampires they had killed some time ago, but he couldn’t recall anything strange about them.

“Yes. Most likely werewolves as well. Mr Kim assured me he would grant me a meeting with a werewolf friend of his, Lee Keonhee. He will be visiting New York soon for a fortnight.”

“Is there anything else?” Mingi asked. “Right now, nothing really makes sense to me. We are moving around in darkness.”

“Not exactly, we have a couple of leads. And we have a powerful ally,” Irene told him, going for a soothing tone. “Despite Mr Park’s little act, Mr Kim still wants to work with us—by ‘us’ I mean myself and you three.”

“Those are the only good news I am receiving today,” Yeosang muttered, rubbing his temples very much in the same manner Irene tended to do.

“Do not be so dramatic,” Mingi said, rolling his eyes.

“I need to mull over this information. There has to be a connection somewhere,” Irene muttered. “You can leave now, I will not want to hold you back any longer.”

“We could help,” Hwanwoong offered. 

“No. You have already done much. You have training to do,” she disregarded him, waving her hand in the air. “And I need you to keep your ears and eyes open regarding Mr Park’s plans. It seems I have more than one enemy to deal with,” she added with a heavy sigh.


	5. Downworlder's Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Time to join the party,” Yeosang mumbled and walked ahead, vanishing between the pillars that held up the rooms above. It was a bit odd to have pillars inside one’s mansion, Seonghwa mused as he followed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait, life has been weird. i can't promise faster updates but i hope you enjoy this longer chapter!!

**New York, November 2nd 1899**

_May 3rd 1899_

_It is the third time I am injected with demon blood. With the help of the warlock it does not kill me, but it certainly does not grant me any strength either. I suffer from nightmares like I have never before in my life. I have reasons to believe I was lied to about this, it is far from a blessing._

_May 14th 1899_

_We have moved to test on Downworlders_ _—the term they use to refer to themselves. None of the subjects have survived so far. The poor werewolf boy that was injected with vampire blood died not even two hours later, agony consuming his last hours. I am afraid of what they have planned for me next. There were words of Nephilim blood, I do not know what that means._

_May 16th 1899_

_The Nephilim blood was the first one to take effect, transforming me into what they call Shadowhunters. It has given me strength and made me quicker and more agile on my feet. They say they want to try with the demon blood again._

_May 20th 1899_

_I feel power that I have never felt before. After my positive response to having Nephilim, demon, and mundane blood coursing through my veins they want to move on to faerie blood now. For once I am excited to see what comes next._

_May 22nd 1899_

_SUBJECT STATUS: Deceased_

Yeosang had spent the better half of the previous day helping Irene read the entries. It had taken him a lot of convincing to let him aid her. She liked to pretend she could handle these things alone and didn’t need their help, but it was a lot and clues could escape her that wouldn’t escape Yeosang, and vice versa. Despite his many promises to find something, Yeosang’s head was swimming with the idea that Wallace Grant was experimenting on mundanes as well as Downworlders, mixing their blood together to… To create _what_ exactly?

A powerful being that held all the qualities of the species roaming the Shadow World? It sounded impossible and dangerous, something reckless only a madman would come up with. What kind of magic could even support this kind of theory?

Then again, the very fact that all of this could be false information provided by Wallace Grant to mislead them just made Yeosang want to yell out in frustration, throw the entries into the flames of the fireplace standing opposite from his four poster bed. He couldn’t tell if these entries held a piece of truth to them. It was true that a demonic entity had entered the Institute, but on second thought, they did not know for sure it had been a demon for they never got possession of the body. All they knew about it, was its misshapen form and the flames that had come out of the body; Yeosang still wasn’t sure if the fire had destroyed it or been part of it.

The lack of information and the confusing pieces they had, made this mission extremely difficult to thread through. It appeared as if Jinhyuk was just as uncertain about what to do next. He had ordered a new group of Shadowhunters to leave the Institute by nightfall to explore the abandoned office Yeosang, Mingi, and Hwanwoong had already visited. He wondered if they’d find anything useful; it was doubtful. Irene still hadn’t let Jinhyuk in on the entries and her conversation with Hongjoong regarding the werewolf she was going to meet in a couple of days.

A knock on his door made him glance away from the entries. He hastily hid them inside his pillowcase, jumping out of bed to open the door. He was surprised to find Seonghwa standing in the corridor, his black hair looking like the midnight sky in the witchlight. His posture was stiff and guarded, it was clear he hadn’t come to Yeosang’s door on his own accord.

“Mr Park,” Yeosang said in greeting, clutching the door handle tightly as he stared at the older Shadowhunter.

“Mr Kang.” He nodded his head. “I was wondering if you have any trips organized in the near future to… blow off some steam,” he added the last bit with a pinched expression.

Yeosang frowned, wondering if Seonghwa actually was looking to get drunk in a bar in New York. That couldn’t be right.

“No. Actually, I have been very studious and behaving exceptionally—”

“Cut the crap,” Seonghwa said. “Studious? I sincerely doubt you could read.” Yeosang rolled his eyes. It was a low blow. “I know you are up to something. Remember our agreement.”

“I do remember it. Rather vividly,” he said, rolling up the right sleeve of his white button up to show Seonghwa his Memorization rune. He smirked when he saw Seonghwa grit his teeth. “But I am terribly sorry, I have no spree planned in the near future. I really am just wasting away my youth in the Institute, if you must know.” He sighed dramatically, pushing his brown hair out of his face. “The ladies, they miss me. They said my face was my third angelic charm, next to my blood and my—”

Seonghwa’s eyes widened and he clasped his hand on Yeosang’s mouth quickly, disgust transforming his face as he watched him with an alarmed look. “I really do not want to know.” He removed his hand again, as if startled that he had put it over Yeosang’s mouth to begin with.

“Are you certain? It is not what you think it is.”

Seonghwa squinted his eyes distrustfully.

“I am certain. Thank you very much.” He swayed back, eyeing the chamber behind Yeosang, as if he tried to see something that wasn’t meant to be there. His eyes returned to Yeosang once he realized that there really wasn’t anything strange or out of order. He let out a sigh, offering Yeosang a very insincere and strained smile. “I believe my visit here has been rather useless. I shall be on my way.”

“Oh, I could make it worth a while,” Yeosang muttered, not sure what possessed him to say _that_.

He wondered mildly if he had accidentally drank some shine instead of water for the past three hours. Despite that out of line comment, which made his own skin crawl in an unpleasant way, it was rather rewarding to see Seonghwa sputter and stumble as he leaned away from Yeosang’s chamber.

His eyes were even wider than before and he looked at Yeosang as if he was utterly insane.

“I will pretend I did _not_ hear that,” he said, walking away hastily, as if Yeosang was a demon close on his heels. It was probably for the best because Yeosang didn’t know what he would have said if Seonghwa had chosen to confront him about it. 

He rubbed his eyes as he closed the door. He should probably head to sleep, it was already dark outside. Maybe all those insane diary entries had fogged up his brain too much.

**~*~**

**New York, November 3rd 1899**

It was dawning slowly, the sun hesitantly rising behind the taller buildings by Union Street. Miss Anne had awoken Yeosang about half an hour ago with a worried and wide eyed expression on her face, claiming that Jinhyuk and Irene wanted them all in the dinner hall to report a misfortune. Yeosang was too sleepy still to fully grasp her words, but he was concerned to say the least.

Misfortune never sounded good, really, no matter what the circumstances were. 

He found Hwanwoong and Mingi in between the crowd of Shadowhunters easily, and walked over to them, they were dressed in simple dress shirts and loose pants, sleep still pulling their eyelids shut. Mingi had pillow lines covering half of his left cheek and his red hair stood up funnily. His spectacles sat crookedly on the bridge of his nose.

With a startle, Yeosang found Seonghwa to be standing very close to him, his circle of friends expanding around him. All of them looked much like Mingi did: with messy hair and tired demeanors. It was odd for Yeosang to see Seonghwa in such a disheveled state, he usually stood with a straight back and wore elegant clothes, his movements graceful and deliberate. 

Once the dinner hall was filled with each Shadowhunter that was staying in the International Institute of New York, Jinhyuk stepped forward, which elicited an irritated frown from Irene, but she did not hold the man back. Jinhyuk cleared his throat, gaining all the attention on him.

“With a heavy heart, I bring the news that the Shadowhunter party that was sent out the previous night has passed away. All seven Nephilim were killed during an ambush of vampires,” he revealed. Several gasps sounded in the room and it didn’t take long for someone to start crying, their wailing sounds disappeared as soon as the Shadowhunter left the hall to grieve in the corridor. “Yes, it is truly tragic. We did not expect this turn of events. These abominable vampires outnumbered our skillful and brave warriors, surprising them as they used the night to their advantage.” He paused dramatically. Something about his act, the way he spoke and gestured with his hands, made Yeosang’s skin itch. “We shall _not_ hold a Rite of Mourning, there is no time for it. We live in dangerous times,” these words were followed by indignant and angry clamor.

Yeosang frowned, irritation already growing in him.

“Is your father allowed to decide that?” asked Jinsoul, sounding affronted. “Should this not be Miss Bae's decision, as the official Head of the Institute.”

“She should,” Yunho interjected before Seonghwa could speak. “I think it is rather disrespectful to not honor our fallen warriors. What a despicable decision—”

“ _Yunho_ ,” hissed Mina, elbowing him delicately.

“I-I do not understand,” Seonghwa muttered. Yeosang could see that he was staring at his father in disbelief. “Why would he—?” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “I will speak with him.” He marched over to Jinhyuk, pushing past the crowd of Shadowhunters around them.

The clamor was still on going, some even shouted protests at Jinhyuk, who looked annoyed and ready to strangle someone. Irene had her own face colored with shock, but it vanished as she realized how unpopular Jinhyuk had made himself with this decision. Yeosang watched Seonghwa pull his father aside to talk to him. Of course, he couldn’t hear them, but it was a heated argument going by the many hand gestures and deep frowns on both of their faces.

“Excuse me,” Yunho suddenly addressed Yeosang, looking ashamed and guilty. “I know Seonghwa would never say this, but I do apologize for his father’s behavior. He should not have taken that choice. It was for Miss Bae to decide, who I believe would have held a funeral.”

“She certainly would have,” Hwanwoong said, his tone clipped. 

Surprisingly, Mingi defended the Consul’s son, scoffing a little as he said, “It is not Mr Jung’s fault that Mr Park is a horrible—” he gestured wildly at Yeosang. “What is it that you always use— _schmuck_?”

“Schmuck, gib face, bad egg—Wait, no, that is your expression.” Yeosang scratched his chin. “A dick,” he added delightedly. Mingi sputtered, glancing at Yunho with wide eyes. “You know, I do not particularly enjoy the library and its boring company. I pick these up off the streets. You should know way more insults than I do, yet you are too mellow to use any of them—or teach them to me.” Yeosang rolled his eyes, completely missing how Mingi was fretting and sweating, trying in vain to have him shut up, as he nervously kept glancing at the Consul’s son, who was now joined by an amused Mina and a concerned Jinsoul.

Hwanwoong let out a boisterous laugh, patting Yeosang’s head, messing up his hair in the process—not that it mattered much, after the few hours of sleep Yeosang had managed to catch, his hair was bound to be a mess anyway.

“Please never do change, Yeosang.”

“I do not plan on doing so.”

“I-I am terribly sorry, Mr Jung,” Mingi stuttered, his face an odd and bright color of red, as though he was choking.

“Mingi, I have told you before, there is no need to address me so formally. After all we are the same age, are we now?” Yunho said, smiling amicably. “I should probably go before Seonghwa murders his father—or vice versa.” His voice held a bit of white anger under the exasperation. “Again, I am very sorry on behalf of Mr Park’s actions.”

The second time Yeosang awoke the sun was nearly standing in the middle of the sky and he wondered with a jolt who had allowed him to sleep for this long and _why_ ; how had he not been awoken much earlier? It wasn’t usual for Shadowhunters to laze around in bed.

He kicked off his blankets and got dressed in a hasty manner, nearly stumbling over one of his leather boots. He took a quick glance at his reflection in the mirror hanging near the wooden door. It had been hanging there even before Yeosang had lived in this chamber, much like the bookshelf in the far end with the different books he had never really paid attention to, he was sure by now their pages were nothing more than dust. He did not know who had resided in this room before his arrival or for how long it had stayed vacant until Yeosang had turned it upside down with his scattered clothes: his many colorful shirts and beautiful vests with shiny buttons.

Yeosang’s hair had gotten long over the past months, but every time Irene had tried to get Miss Julianna to cut it, Yeosang had refused, and now his brown hair was a wild mess that nearly reached down to his chin.

With a contemplative stare at his reflection, he strode over to his many shoes, undoing the lace so he could tie up his hair in a messy bun. He eyed himself in the mirror again and smiled faintly, something about the appearance made him look fiercer than before. He once had seen an illustration in a book about notorious Shadowhunters, back when he had stayed in the Academy in Idris. He hadn’t been sure if it had been a man or a woman—not that it mattered much, he supposed—but the Nephilim had worn their hair in a similar fashion as he was now. 

Yeosang didn’t bother entering the dinner hall, he knew it would be vacant by now, and headed directly to the kitchens. Miss López was in the staff’s chamber, the window torn wide open as an icy wind swirled up her dark brown curls. The wind carried a scent of snow. Miss López held a cheroot between her fingers, her lips wrapped around one of the ends as she inhaled the tobacco. She raised her eyebrows when Yeosang entered. She put the cheroot down and jerked her chin in the direction of a plate on a small table pushed against the wall.

“ _Ay, mi niño_ ,” she said in Spanish, shaking her head. “Be glad I am fond of you,” she added, grinning.

“¡ _Eres un_ _ángel_!” Yeosang exclaimed in broken Spanish, grabbing the plate. He removed the coverage and let out a pleased sound as he found several buns and slices of cheese, meat, and even some confiture—from the color and the seeds, it appeared to be fig confiture.

After his late breakfast, Yeosang headed up to the training room in the hopes to find Hwanwoong and Mingi, but instead he found Seonghwa together with his friends. A few other Shadowhunters lingered in the room to train. After the dreadful news earlier that day, it seemed as if the Shadowhunters had calmed down and had accepted Jinhyuk’s decision.

Yeosang let out a sigh and marched over to Seonghwa. He didn’t regard him and instead addressed his cousin and her _parabatai_. “Good morning.”

“Morning?” Seonghwa echoed, snorting. Yeosang pointedly ignored him.

“I was wondering if you had seen Mingi and Hwanwoong?” he asked.

Yunho seemed surprised. “No, sorry. I haven’t seen them since breakfast. Miss Bae did want to talk with them.”

“Why did no one bother waking me up?” Yeosang bemoaned.

“Miss Anne tried, but she said you slept like a log,” Mina told him, grinning. “She said you can be quite frightening if awoken.”

“That is not true.”

“It _does_ sound truthful,” Seongwha said.

Yeosang shot him an annoyed look. “How would you know, Mr Park?” He didn’t wait for an answer, though, turning on his heels to march out of the training room so he could directly go to Irene’s study. If she had called upon his friends it most definitely meant that something had happened. 

He bumped into his friends near the dinner hall, and they immediately dragged him into an empty room.

“Irene wants us to investigate the place again. She believes something must have changed since we were there. Why else would they spare us but attack the group,” Hwanwoong said, not even bothering with formalities. “We’re heading out at nighttime.”

“It would make a lot more sense to head out in the daylight, considering demons and vampires cannot stand the sun,” Yeosang said thoughtfully.

“It would raise questions,” Hwanwoong disregarded his words quickly. “We disguise our leave under the belief that we are simply patrolling, like we do most nights.”

Yeosang nodded his head, but then he remembered the promise they had made—or rather the pact they had sealed. He scowled. “I suppose it lies now in my hands to speak with Mr Park.”

“What?” Mingi asked, confused.

“The deal,” Yeosang supplied.

“Oh, right.” Mingi nodded his head. “I had completely forgotten about that.”

“I was going to speak with Mr Park, but if you do _want_ to do the honors, Yeo, be my guest,” Hwanwoong said, smiling a little mischievously. 

“You know I would rather do anything but that,” Yeosang said through gritted teeth. “But fine. I’ll speak to him. When are we heading out?”

“After dusk,” Hwanwoong answered. “Knowing Mr Park he will want his friends to tag along, make sure they will not. We cannot have too many of us leave, it would raise suspicion.”

“I do not believe I hold the power over that decision.”

Hwanwoong groaned. “Whatever.”

“I think it might be better if there are more of us. In case we too get ambushed; do you not agree?” Mingi said, looking at his _parabatai_.

“I suppose you are right.”

The corner where Union Street and Utica Avenue met was pretty much empty, the night’s darkness covered the streets like a blanket. New moon was nearing, which meant that it was even darker than usual. Mingi grabbed his witchlight so their companions would spot them right away. Earlier, Yeosang had begrudgingly seeked out Seonghwa to inform him about their little mission. The older Shadowhunter had appeared surprised that Yeosang was revealing to him this information.

“Is that not what our agreement entailed?” Yeosang had asked, cocking his head curiously.

“Well, yes. I did not expect you to hold your word,” Seonghwa had told him.

“It is important no one knows about this. Not Irene, not your father. I will put aside my dislike towards you for this.”

“Am I supposed to feel honored?”

“I do not care what you are going to feel,” Yeosang had hissed, drawing up his shoulders as he had turned around and left. He still felt irritated, any conversation with Seonghwa tended to have that effect on him if he was honest.

He was surprised as much as Seonghwa, that they both had held their words, Yeosang probably wouldn’t have if it weren’t for Hwanwoong and Mingi, and the fact that it could seriously harm Irene. He supposed he was learning to put his hatred for Seonghwa aside and choose the love he had for his friends above it, however difficult it was proving to be.

He felt weirdly vulnerable and as if he was prone to get misunderstood for his actions, but he couldn’t dwell too much on them.

Vulnerability and getting misunderstood were always tedious, but for Yeosang they took another shape and meaning when it came to Seonghwa and their past interactions. His skin still prickled unpleasantly when he thought back to their days in the Academy, before Yeosang had gotten himself expelled at age fifteen. Irene had been deeply disappointed with him, but over time she had let go of it and simply accepted that Yeosang had had reasons to set Seonghwa’s belongings ablaze with the Fire rune. The only person that knew the truth was Mingi, who had tried to stop Yeosang from committing the act—obviously failing at that. Not even Seonghwa knew the exact reason why Yeosang had acted out that way, thinking that Yeosang simply held a baseless grudge against him.

“I think I see them,” Hwanwoong said, pointing at a group of shadows that emerged from the direction of the Institute.

He was indeed right, the moment Mingi’s witchlight reached them and their faces became visible: it were Seonghwa, Yunho, Mina, and Jinsoul, all in their fighting gear, knives and seraph blades attached to their weapon belts. Jinsoul had a whip as well and a bow she had around her shoulder, her quiver securely attached to a back, much like Yeosang had.

“Anyone else we are waiting for?” Yunho asked, his tone friendly as always. He nodded his head at them in acknowledgement, his gaze lingering on Mingi for a moment before his eyes moved away.

Yeosang shook his head. “No.”

The seven Shadowhunters walked up Utica Avenue, to the point where it became Eastern Parkway. From there, it was a long walk towards Sunset Park, but the Nephilim had runes on their body for swiftness and agility, and it didn’t take them long to reach the docks, the ships staying in the harbor looked scary and nostalgic in the darkness. As if they had stood there for a very long time and would stay for another century or so. They creaked as waves passed through the dark waters of the Gowanus Bay, moving in jerky movements. 

Briefly, Yeosang entertained the idea of being a sailor: to find a home in the endlessly huge and unexplored oceans, to spent most of his days and nights confined to the surface of a ship. He shuddered at the thought.

“It was near here,” Mingi announced, leading the group to the row of buildings where the abandoned office was.

Mina shivered. “Is it always so dreadfully quiet here? I would have thought the docks were a frequented area.”

“It _is_ odd,” Hwanwoong agreed. “Maybe it has to do with Mr Grant’s activities.”

“That might actually make sense,” Yunho said.

“How would you know?” Seonghwa inquired. “This is your first time visiting Sunset Park at this hour of the night and—”

“ _Boys_ ,” Jinsoul cut him off, sighing exasperatedly much like Irene tended to do. They would get along, Yeosang realized with a small smile. “It is truly vexing to hang out with you sometimes,” she added, rolling her eyes, but Yeosang could only spot fondness in them.

He supposed the four of them were like Yeosang, Mingi, Hwanwoong, and Irene. Gone through many toils and facing too many dangers to count, a bond linking them together that was nearly as strong as the bond between _parabatai_.

 _Parabatai_ , Yeosang thought about it as he glanced at Seonghwa. Yeosang had never found someone to share this holy bond with and now it was too late anyway. He knew for Seonghwa it was the same case, and as it seemed Jinsoul didn’t have a _parabatai_ either. He often wondered what it would have been like to have one, if— _No,_ Yeosang chastised himself, shaking his head. He wasn’t going to stoop that low and think of _that_.

“Oh, you love our company, do not lie,” Yunho said, grinning broadly.

“Yeah, yeah.” Jinsoul moved her hand in the air in a dismissing manner. “So where is the abandoned office of Mr Grant?” she asked, addressing Mingi.

The tall Shadowhunter looked perplexed, he scanned the area. Yeosang slowly grew aware that it should have been right there, in front of them, but they only found remnants of what once could have been a house. Had Mr Grant gotten rid of it, not deeming it useful anymore?

“I don’t understand,” Mingi said, approaching the ominous ruins in front of them. Now that his witchlight was shedding light on it it was clear there once had stood a building there, the outline of it obvious. “It’s gone,” he stated the obvious.

“I swear by Raziel, ol’ Wallie is giving me a headache,” Yeosang muttered as he followed his best friend, kicking one of the stones that once had made up the abandoned office. “For why would he tear it down?”

“Ol’ Wallie,” Yunho repeated under his breath, badly concealing his surprised snort.

“To eliminate connections?” Mina suggested. “Maybe he felt threatened after our Shadowhunter party got here.”

Yeosang scoffed. “He killed them all. Why would _he_ feel threatened?”

“Miss Kang might be right,” Hwanwoong said, glancing around a bit helplessly. “He would not have any reason to do this unless he felt that we were too close to him.”

“But I fail to understand, why not do so after we were here?” Mingi questioned, frowning. He shone his witchlight around to discern something in the darkness around them.

“Mingi!” Yeosang hissed, but the damage was done.

“You were here before?” Yunho asked.

Hwanwoong hesitated, glancing at them before he looked at Mingi and Yeosang. Some _parabatai_ conversation was occurring between them that Yeosang knew very little about, but he got the gist of it, he had spent enough years with them to be able to read it.

“We were, yes. Some nights ago. There was scarcely any findings, and we are sure it was a set up anyway,” Hwanwoong revealed.

“A set up?” Seonghwa echoed. He had been oddly quiet since they had gotten there. “What could you mean?”

“It was all just too perfectly arranged,” Yeosang explained. “There were…” he hesitated. Should he trust Seonghwa? He looked at Hwanwoong, who nodded his head. “We found a bunch of diary entries. They do not make much sense and we do not know whether they are real or part of the set up.”

“What did they say?” Mina asked, interested.

Yeosang grimaced. “It appears that Mr Grant was doing different experiments on Downworlders and mundanes. Mixing blood and whatnot.”

His words darkened the expressions of those with him. Jinsoul frowned deeply, her mouth twisting into an ugly grimace. “Mixing blood?” she echoed.

Yeosang nodded his head. “He injected demon and angel blood into a mundane. It made the mundane stronger, but when he tried to inject faerie blood, the mundane died. We are noy sure how far his experiments have gone. Some of the entries are unintelligible, not making sense at all.”

“How awful!” Mina exclaimed, shaking her head.

“It is monstrous. He was creating abominations,” Yeosang said.

“Do you believe what passed the Institute’s wards was some sort of experiment?” Seonghwa wondered, addressing Yeosang.

“Most likely. I do not know what blood he mixed to accomplish that—”

“Well, he would have needed Angel blood,” Seonghwa interrupted him. “How he acquired that worries me.”

“Have there been any reports on missing Shadowhunters in New York?” Yunho asked.

“Not that we know of,” Hwanwoong replied. “We could ask the Institute of New York, although they would have reported to us if someone had gone missing.”

“Yeah, you are probably right.”

“I fail to see why we should stay out here any longer,” Mingi interjected the conversation, glancing around with badly disguised discomfort. “This place gives me a very bad feeling.”

“It gives all of us a bad feeling, I believe,” Yeosang said.

Hwanwoong nodded his head decidedly. “We shall head back, then.”

They were only a few feet away from the now destroyed office, when a shadow sprung out of nowhere down onto them, latching itself on Seonghwa and making him tumbled to the ground. It appeared to be a vampire from the looks from it, but its skin was purple like a warlock’s could be, and in Mingi’s witchlight, the eyes glowed in the distinctive greenish way those of a werewolf would.

“By Raziel!” Jinsoul exclaimed in surprise and horror, grabbing her whip. She hit the ground with it, gaining the vampire’s—if it even truly was a vampire—attention. She hit it again, this time it tangled around the neck of the creature.

“You should have not come back!” the vampire wheezed, his hands coming around his neck to remove the whip, but he was clearly outnumbered.

Mina and Yunho moved in sync, both with their seraph blades drawn out as they sprung towards the vampire. Yeosang had already unlatched his bow from his shoulders, and was pointing at the vampire. He glanced around to see if there were more hiding in the darkness, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

He wasn’t sure who killed the vampire as Yunho and Mina drew their blades into its body at the same time, but it collapsed seconds later on top of Seonghwa, who pushed the vampire off his body so he could sit up. He looked a bit ruffled and shocked.

“We really should leave,” Mingi said urgently, his voice strained.

“Hold on.” Yunho crouched down to inspect the body. “This was not a regular vampire,” he said.

“ _Clearly_ ,” Yeosang muttered, approaching the dead body as well to stare at it with disgust.

“What kind of sick crossover—” Jinsoul started, trailing off as she kicked the head of the vampire with her boot. “This is very gruesome.”

From somewhere, Yeosang heard the familiar sounds of Mingi throwing up. Hwanwoong was already aiding him. Yunho glanced at him worriedly.

“Is he alright?” he asked Yeosang.

“He will be. He is not very fond of blood and death.”

“That hardly comes in handy if you are a Shadowhunter,” Seonghwa pointed out, dusting off his clothes and checking himself for wounds, but he seemed to be just fine.

Jinsoul had acted quickly.

“He is a good warrior,” Yeosang defended his friend. “Did you find anything?” he questioned, looking at Yunho. He really wanted to leave the docks and get back to the Institute, he no longer felt safe. Safety was scarce in the Nephilim world, but these days it was even rarer, and with the cluelessness of the situation he did not want to be on the streets at nighttime for longer than needed.

“I might have,” Yunho said, rummaging through the vampire's trouser pocket. He pulled out a folded piece of paper, inspecting it curiously. Old blood covered the top part of the fold. Yunho unfolded it. Yeosang couldn’t make out much, but it appeared to be a letter of some sort, perhaps an invitation. “Huh.”

“What is it?” Mina asked, leaning down so she could glance at it. “‘Hereby we officially invite you to the Annual Downworlder Winter Ball’,” she read. “‘As a trusted member of Wallace Grant’s, you are required to bring the seal given to you…’ The rest of it is illegible, there is blood and dust covering it.”

“Annual Downworlder Winter Ball?” Seonghwa inquired at the same time as Yeosang said, “Seal?”

“Check his body for this mentioned seal,” Yeosang continued, crouching down next to Seonghwa to help search for it. It didn’t take them long to find a small, round object in the front pocket of the vampire’s coat. It was similar to a coin but made out of wood with an inscription that Yeosang had never seen before in his life. The Shadowhunters exchanged a look. “Are you thinking what I am thinking?” Yeosang wondered.

“We attend the ball, of course!” Mina said. “It is in two nights. It gives us enough time to replicate this seal so we all are in possession of one and—”

“We should inform Miss Bae about this first, I assume,” Seonghwa interrupted her excited ramble. It struck Yeosang as odd that he was mentioning Irene and not his father, as would have been expected. “We should not go there alone, without no one knowing where we are going. It was already a risk heading out tonight.”

Yeosang hesitated. “Irene… She knows we are here.”

“ _What_?!” Seonghwa asked, startled and betrayed. “She agreed to this?” Yeosang stayed quiet and as Seonghwa kept staring realization dawned on him. “She set this up! She is going behind the Consul’s back. Behind my father’s back!”

“In her defence,” Yunho started, surprising Yeosang, “your father was being a hindrance to the mission, holding everyone back. I cannot blame Miss Bae for taking matters into her own hands.”

Seonghwa kept quiet, frowning deeply.

“I know she will agree to us attending this ball. It is a promising lead. I am most positive Mr Kim would aid us,” Yeosang said. He didn’t give a chance for them to speak as he continued, “Let’s head back to the Institute and speak with Irene about this.”

“I still cannot believe she was acting in secrecy. That was dangerous!” Seonghwa protested as he stood up. “You could have died when you went out on your own!”

“Would that not have been a dream come true for you, Mr Park?” Yeosang inquired, grinning at the older Shadowhunter.

Seonghwa sneered at him. “I might not like you, Mr Kang, but I would never wish death upon you.” The words stunned Yeosang into silence. “I am not sure how I feel about this. I should inform my father.”

“You will do _nothing_ of the sorts,” Yunho said, his voice sharp. He grabbed Seonghwa’s elbow to drag him aside. Their conversation was too quiet for Yeosang to make out, but it seemed heated.

“Is he always such a stickler for rules?” he asked Jinsoul and Mina.

“Oh, this is mild,” Mina said, shrugging. “His father holds an invisible rope around his neck. Sometimes he gets into this ghastly mood when his father orders him something that he knows is not quite agreeable, but he still has to obey. He would do anything than to have his father frown upon him with disappointment.”

“You know how it is in between Nephilim sons and their fathers,” Jinsoul added grimly.

“No, I do not. My parents died when I was young. I hardly remember them,” he said, trying to sound as unaffected as possible.

“Oh, I am terribly sorry,” Jinsoul said, guiltily. “That was thoughtless of me.”

Yeosang shrugged. “You did not know.”

“Father has spoken only highly of your parents,” Mina told him softly.

“If you do not mind me asking, how did they die?” 

Yeosang was saved the trouble of answering Jinsoul’s question when Hwanwoong and Mingi approached them, the latter looking sickly pale under his witchlight.

“I’m good to go,” Mingi muttered weakly.

**~*~**

**New York, November 5th 1899**

Seonghwa probably shouldn’t be as surprised as he was when Irene not only had agreed to let her Nephilim boys attend the ball, but had approved Seonghwa, Yunho, Mina, and Jinsoul to tag along.

She had sat down by the desk in the Head’s study, her arms folded on the mahogany wood as she had listened to the disarrayed retellings of the night. They had all been overexcitable, and even if Hwanwoong was meant to be the one telling the story, everyone had butted in once or twice to add a detail they had deemed as important. Irene hadn’t been faced by it, listening closely and scribbling down certain details.

Seonghwa’s father would have exploded in a fit of irritation and anger. It was strange seeing these contrasting leaderships.

They had met outside of the Institute, where Irene had given them two carriages for their disposal. Each Conta twin had sat by one of the carriages, awaiting the Shadowhunters. They had been given explicit orders by Irene to drive them to the ball in Manhattan and wait until the ball was over to drive them back. The twins hadn’t really said much; they never did Seonghwa had come to realize. 

As they rode through the streets of New York—they were mostly empty, but some streets were homes to famous bars and taverns, crowds of mundanes lingering around—Seonghwa stayed quiet to get himself into the mindset for a social event. He didn’t exactly dread them, he had attended many in his still young life, but something about this one made his skin crawl most unpleasantly. He was sure it had to do with the fact that it was a Downworlder event and not a Nephilim one.

They would be greatly outnumbered, even with the assistance of the two Shadowhunters from the Institute of New York. Irene had informed them a day ago about the developments of the mission. The Institute of New York helped where they could, but they had their hands full with a different demon problem. They had agreed to send over two of their warriors to guard the mansion the ball was held at, in case something went terribly wrong. Despite their differences, the Institute of New York seemed to trust Irene a great deal with how she was handling the case regarding Wallace Grant—more than they were trusting Jinhyuk anyway.

Seonghwa didn’t like to think of his father, it filled him with guilt and discomfort. He hadn’t told him about their trip to Sunset Park two nights ago, lying to his face. Seonghwa had never done that, but he had promised Yunho he would stay quiet.

“Do _not_ tell him. I am begging you, Seonghwa,” Yunho had asked of him when he had pulled him aside the night they had been down by the docks. 

“You know I cannot not tell him. You know how—You, out of everyone, should understand how important blood and the Law are.”

Yunho had stayed quiet, a shadow crossing his face. “If the mission fails, tell him, but please wait a little. I think Miss Bae might be on the right track here. You want Mr Grant to be locked up, too, do you not? This might be a very important event to attend.”

Seonghwa had let out a sigh, hating that Yunho was being right.

“Fine,” he had agreed, bile rising in his stomach as he had thought about how best he could lie to his father without showing that he was lying.

Hongjoong had helped them create the seals and find the appropriate attire for the ball—thankfully, it was a masked ball, meaning they would blend in perfectly. He had casted a spell to hide the runes swirling around their bodies, and hide the scent of their angel blood. The warlock had revealed to be vaguely acquaintanced with the holder of the ball, a warlock from England named Alexander Keaton. He wasn’t as old as Hongjoong and when Irene had asked if he ever had broken the Accords, Hongjoong had stayed quiet, his silence answering the question effectively.

“If you are lucky, you might find proof of him breaking the Law,” Hongjoong had said, grimacing.

It had been most bewildering for Seonghwa to work so closely together with a Downworlder, not just any, but the High Warlock of Queens. Seonghwa had visited numerous Institutes and wherever he had gone, none of them had been too fond of Downworlders. There was the burning disgust his father held towards them that had greatly influenced Seonghwa during his childhood too. He had since then witnessed a lot, which had gradually changed his opinion, but he couldn’t exactly say he was fond of them just yet.

He found it intriguing, how easily Yeosang had accepted Hongjoong, dropping all formalities and speaking to him as he would with a close acquaintance. In his knowledge, Yeosang hadn’t known Hongjoong for that long either, but in that short time they had bonded rather quickly. He wondered why that was.

“Do not look so grim, Seonghwa, we are attending a ball!” Jinsoul exclaimed, nudging his shoulder. She seemed overly excited about it, more about the ball than the mission itself.

“We are not there to mingle,” he reminded her.

Jinsoul rolled her eyes. “Oh, I know, but still—It is sort of exciting, is it not?” she asked into the compartment’s air, eyeing her other two companions.

“I agree. It will be interesting,” Yunho said. It was no secret to them that Yunho had always worn an open mind and interest in Downworlders, believing the Nephilim had treated them unfairly in the past. “I cannot imagine what it will be like.”

“Probably much more livelier than a Shadowhunter ball. That is for sure,” Mina said, grinning. She already wore her mask. It was of a dark blue, fawn feathers attached to it decoratively. It matched the midnight blue gown she wore.

Seonghwa was dressed in simple black trousers and a white button up, a tailored black jacket to match with the trousers. He had refused to wear any of the colorful pieces Hongjoong had brought, not wanting to stand out too much.

“You will stand out more looking bleak than colorful,” Hongjoong had told him thoughtfully.

“I for one am loving these purple colors,” Yeosang had said, excited. For a Shadowhunter he was oddly interested in fashion. 

Seonghwa wondered what Yeosang was speaking about with Mingi and Hwanwoong in the other carriage. Were they discussing the ball as well or were they talking about the mission? Were they talking at all? He had to admit, he knew very little about the three Nephilim boys, only what his father had told him over the years and the little glimpses he had gotten when they all had attended the Shadowhunter Academy years ago.

Alexander Keaton’s mansion lay in the center of the Upper East Side of Manhattan, in a small side street between Madison Avenue and Park Avenue. Hongjoong had shown them a painting that had been made three decades ago by an anonymous New Yorker mundane painter, who had been a lover of Alexander’s during that time. It wasn’t as big as Seonghwa had imagined, but it occupied half of the block, huge trees lining the metal gate to keep prying eyes from seeing the garden that spread out in front of the mansion. For good reason too, as Hongjoong revealed belladonna and other rather illegal flowers and plants to be grown in there. The mansion itself had been constructed inspired on different Italian artistic movements as Mr Keaton had spent a huge part of his first immortal century in Italy.

The carriage stopped a block away from the mansion so that no Downworlder could identity the carriage as property of the Institute.

The four Shadowhunters exited the carriage and walked to the sidewalk to await their companions. Once the seven of them were ready, they walked towards the Downworlder ball, where they’d meet with Hongjoong and his werewolf friend. They’d help out the Shadowhunters and would introduce them to Mr Keaton. They were meant to pretend they were interested in the warlock’s side-businesses, hopefully gaining some information on what exactly it was that was going on in the Shadow World.

“Remember to not stick to one another,” started Hwanwoong, stopping as he regarded his companions with a serious look. He wasn’t wearing his mask, yet, it dangled from his wrist. “It would be far too suspicious if we clung together. And—”

“And do not cause any trouble. We know,” Yeosang finished for him.

He wore a deep purple shirt with a lilac colored mask that was already perched atop his nose, securely tied on the back of his head. His dark brown hair had gotten long since Seonghwa had last seen him—much before the International Feast—and he had started to wear it in a bun. He didn’t really resemble the image of Yeosang he had engraved in his mind: a young, bratty boy with shaven head, who, although showed shyness towards elder Shadowhunters, didn’t mind being loud and brash with those his age.

Over time, Yeosang had grown rather elegant, even if still vexing, rude, and ostentatious.

“Right,” Hwanwoong drawled. It was clear he was extremely nervous, as they all should be, but Yeosang, much like Mina and Jinsoul, showed signs of over excitement and a confidence regarding this foreign ball that shouldn’t really be there.

Hwanwoong wrapped the mask around his face, walking ahead. The rest followed him, but they made sure to keep their distance from one another. Only Mina and Jinsoul walked in with their elbows linked together.

The metal gates of the mansion were opened that night and in the gardens several Downworlders lingered around—some holding conversations, others entangled in rather scandalous acts, and a few seemed already drunk beyond salvation. A mundane subjugate waited by the front door, he looked bored and like he wanted to be elsewhere, probably inside the mansion.

He greeted Hwanwoong with a subtle nod of his head.

Seonghwa had stayed behind, in the garden, pretending to be inspecting a sculpture of a naked man that stood in the center, a fountain spreading around it. Mina and Jinsoul were with Hwanwoong, at a distance, as if they were guests that just happened to be arriving at the same time. Yunho had gone to socialize with a group of faerie women, they seemed delighted by his presence. Mingi stood by the gate still, looking a little lost, but he could pass as a Downworlder who had become part of the Shadow World not that long ago. Yeosang was nowhere to be found.

“Good evening,” Hwanwoong greeted the subjugate. “I am here on invitation of Mr Grant,” he said, pulling out the seal from his trouser pocket to show to the doorman.

The subjugate took it into his hands to inspect. Seonghwa could visibly see Hwanwoong’s shoulders tense. Mina had a hand on her dress’ belt, which was heavily decorated with lace and bows to hide her seraph blade. Jinsoul had wrapped her whip around her arm as a bracelet, she had tensed as well.

Seonghwa held his breath.

“You may proceed. Have fun at the ball, sir,” said the subjugate then, his tone infinitely bored—as if he had been an immortal for a very long time and couldn’t bear to be on this Earth anymore—and returned the seal to Hwanwoong.

“Thank you.” The Shadowhunter walked past the subjugate, who had opened the door for him, and vanished inside the mansion.

 _It worked_ , Seonghwa thought with relief, and walked away from the sculpture to enter the mansion, but he was stopped by someone grabbing his elbow and yanking him backwards. He struggled for a moment, feeling slightly disoriented as all his attention had been on the mundane subjugate and Hwanwoong. He grabbed the stranger’s arms to pull them off him, ready to grab a knife from inside his suit jacket, but once he swirled around to face his opponent, he realized it was only Yeosang.

Up close, his dark brown eyes were nearly bedazzling, darker due to the nighttime, but shining with a mischievous glint that, for the briefest of moments, made Seonghwa’s knees shake. With his long hair swooped away from his face, Yeosang looked much more mature.

“What are you doing, Mr Kang?!” he hissed, calming himself down from the sudden shock.

Yeosang grinned, placing his index finger on his lips as he walked towards the right side of the mansion, where the garden only stretched out, but there weren’t as many guests lingering around. Seonghwa saw a blue shimmer on Yeosang’s lips, as if he had drunk something and not bothered to wipe it off his lips. His fingers itched to wipe it off, it was bothering him.

“Heavens, are you _drunk_ on some warlock potion?” he inquired angrily. Leave it Yeosang to ruin the mission just so he could satisfy his needs. Seonghwa shook his head in disappointment.

Yeosang rolled his eyes. “I have found us a different entrance—and exit if we must flee,” he explained, confidently walking through the garden as if it was his own. As if they weren’t surrounded by their enemies who wouldn’t hesitate to kill them if they were to be discovered. “I talked to a lovely faerie maid and she was kind enough to let me know of this door.”

“I am sure it was out of kindness and nothing else,” Seonghwa muttered, but he did agree that it was a rather smart move. “But why are we using it now? Should we not enter through the front door?”

“There was a last minute change of plans. Mingi and Mr Jung will stay in the gardens, speak with the Downworlders there. My cousin, Miss Jung, and Hwanwoong will go past the mundane subjugate. I had a feeling he would start to grow suspicious if all of us entered, so close in time. Do you not agree, Mr Park? This is much safer!”

Seonghwa sucked in his bottom lip as he followed Yeosang to a hidden door by the back of the garden. It was part of a little house that seemed to be directly connected to the mansion, most likely a maid’s chamber. He hated to admit it, but Yeosang was right. It was safer. Yeosang drew the Unlocking rune and pushed the door open quietly, slipping through without waiting on Seonghwa. It was dark aside from a candle standing on a kitchen table in a room to their right.

A narrow and long corridor stretched out in front of them.

“She said there would be a door by the end of this corridor with warlock magic to prevent anyone from opening it unless they have the key,” Yeosang explained, ducking his head as he walked up the corridor. He pulled something out his shirt’s front pocket; a single key. “She was also kind enough to hand me this key.”

“What exactly did you do to have her entrust you with this?” Seonghwa asked against his better judgement. He was impressed to say the least.

It was dark, yes, but Seonghwa had a Night Vision rune on his body which still made him able to discern Yeosang’s face in the darkness. His cocky manners had dropped and for a moment he looked scarily serious.

“Freedom,” he answered. “I gave her freedom.”

“What do you—?”

“It hardly matters, Mr Park,” Yeosang interjected quickly, not letting Seonghwa finish his question.

The corridor finished rather abruptly, an old looking door made out of simple wood separated them from the ball, apparently. Yeosang fitted the key inside the lock and turned it, pushing it openly tentatively. It seemed that the protection hadn’t just prevented anyone from using magic to open it, but it had as well muffled the chatter and music from the ball. The sound of Spanish guitars and clamor filled the air with a suddenness that made Seonghwa flinch.

“Time to join the party,” Yeosang mumbled and walked ahead, vanishing between the pillars that held up the rooms above. It was a bit odd to have pillars inside one’s mansion, Seonghwa mused as he followed him.

Demons lingered about every corner: by the seating area (nearby to where Seonghwa and Yeosang had appeared), on the dance floor where they escorted their dance partners, standing by high tables together with other Downworlders as they discussed—Seonghwa wasn’t sure he wanted to know. The beautiful faces of faerie folk, with their colorful hair, flashed through the masses occasionally. There were vampires and werewolves, oddly enough not tearing each other to pieces. Servants—which consisted of mundane subjugates, mostly—handed out blood and shimmering concoctions, and it suddenly made sense that the Children of the Night and the Children of the Moon got along; _warlock potions_. 

He whipped his head in Yeosang’s direction, his eyes halting on his lips, where the blue liquid now shone even starker. 

“You _did_ drink something,” he said accusingly. 

“I never claimed I did not. Besides, we need to blend in, so I suggest you get yourself something as well, Mr Park.”

Yeosang smiled faintly at him as his eyes scanned the area. Behind the mask his eyes looked intense and dark, much darker than Seonghwa had ever realized his eyes to be. With his messy bun—some strands springing out of the lace he had used to tie it together—and those brown eyes he certainly did give a mysterious and alluring image. Seonghwa supposed that the slight smirk, that seemed to permanently linger on Yeosang’s lips, only added charm to his already devilishly handsome appearance.

“I see Hongjoong. Let’s go.”

Seonghwa nodded his head distractedly.

“By the Angel,” he muttered to himself, frowning. Why had he paid such close detail to Yeosang’s features? He glanced around to see if any of the Downworlders was smoking some substance that altered one’s brain, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

Hongjoong raised his eyebrows when they approached, immediately recognizing them in the mass of other masked guests.

“Do I want to know why you joined just now? Coming from the back of the mansion no less?” he inquired. Seonghwa hadn’t thought someone would notice them, then again he supposed Hongjoong was sensibilized to their presence. “You do realize what people do when they seek out rather… private rooms at a ball like this?”

To Seonghwa’s surprise Yeosang sputtered, flinging his arms wildly. He grabbed a drink from a nearby servant, downing it quickly. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Hongjoong,” he said with a restrained tone.

The warlock laughed, amused. “You most certainly do.” He shifted his eyes on Seonghwa. “I don’t see why you are so opposed; Mr Park is a rather handsome fella’.”

It was now Seonghwa’s turn to blush and feel flustered. He shook his head, lightly passing a hand through his hair. “We don’t exactly hold… friendly feelings towards one another,” Seonghwa explained to the warlock, grimacing. 

“Oh, that makes it so much better,” Hongjoong said. “I once had a lover, about a century ago. Absolutely despised them, but our meeting under the sheets…” he trailed off, raising his flute filled with a purple fizzing liquid as if to toast. “As a warlock I do not use this word often, but Lord, it was heavenly.”

Seonghwa scrunched up his nose. His skin prickled in the utmost uncomfortable way. He didn’t dare to chance a look at Yeosang. “No offense to you, Mr Kim, but we aren’t exactly here to discuss your past, uh, involvements.”

Hongjoong looked at him with a scrutinizing gaze.

He let out a sigh, finishing his drink. “No. You are not.”

The warlock glanced around the room as if to search for someone, he jerked his chin in the direction of the front of the mansion, where a grand staircase led to the upper chambers and rooms. On the bottom of the staircase stood a man with skin as pale as the full moon. His hair was a dark brown and his eyes a striking blue, like many northern Europeans looked.

“Alexander Keaton,” Hongjoong revealed, though it was not necessary. 

“I shall introduce myself,” said Seonghwa, stepping forward, but Hongjoong held him back.

“That would not be very wise. He is speaking to a very notorious vampire from Iran. You should not interrupt them, it would be most disagreeable to do so.”

Begrudgingly, Seonghwa stayed back, staring at the warlock whose ball they were attending.

“Any sight of Wallace Grant?” he asked then, addressing Hongjoong.

“Not yet. I hardly imagine he will come. This is a Downworlders ball, as much as he is involved it would be rude to bring him.”

“You brought us—Nephilim,” Yeosang pointed out.

“That I did.”

Seonghwa glanced around the huge room: the walls grew tall, everywhere where pillars sustaining the upper floors—it seemed to have been an artistic decision—and upper closer inspection Seonghwa realized there were figures sculpted into the pillars. What stories, he wasn’t sure. He spotted Mina and Jinsoul in the distance, where a huge banquet table was spread out. They were both holding a plate as they conversed with the Downworlders. He couldn’t find Hwanwoong in between the crowd.

“Ah, my dearest friend,” Hongjoong suddenly spoke up, his voice growing soft. A man approached them. He was of Asian descent with light brown hair and contrasting dark eyes. He had sharp features and a handsome and easy smile that played on his lips. 

“Hongjoong.” The man embraced the warlock tightly. He eyed Yeosang and Seonghwa curiously once he drew back. “Who are these agreeable men you are hanging out with? Hopefully not my replacements.” Despite his words he grinned at the Shadowhunters.

“No one could replace you, Keonhee. This one,” he said, putting a hand on Yeosang’s shoulder, “is one of Irene’s boys,” he revealed, his voice dropping low so that no one would hear them. “Mr Park was kind enough to aid us.”

“ _Hongjoong_!” Keonhee protested, his eyes widening. “You brought them to a Downworlder’s ball?!”

Hongjoong shrugged. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. You surely understand, considering what you have been facing in Seoul. Which, by the way, how is my dear city doing?”

Keonhee shook his head, but he smiled. “Seoul is as it always is, but it misses you.”

“You mean _you_ miss me.” Hongjoong grinned when Keonhee made a face. “Yeosang. Mr Park. Meet Lee Keonhee, a dear friend of mine. He is the werewolf I wanted to introduce to Irene. His travel to New York got delayed. He likes to travel as mundanes do and the sea during this season is anything but friendly.”

Seonghwa nodded his head, shaking hands with the werewolf. He felt a bit awkward since it seemed Hongjoong and Keonhee knew each other well, it made him feel out of place. As if he was intruding on something he shouldn’t. Oddly, Yeosang didn’t seem too bothered—or perhaps he simply was good at pretending.

“Oh, it is a pleasure meeting you, Mr Lee.” Yeosang’s words sounded a bit slurred, which annoyed Seonghwa. They were there on a mission and the Shadowhunter had already consumed more than he could _clearly_ handle. “I see Mr Keaton is done with his conversation. I shall head over.”

“Be careful,” Hongjoong advised him.

“I shall come with,” Seonghwa said. Partly because he didn’t trust Yeosang, but another part of him didn’t want to stand alone with Hongjoong and Keonhee.

“I can do this alone,” Yeosang assured him.

“I doubt that.” When they got to the grand staircase they found Alexander to have vanished. Seonghwa exhaled through his nose, annoyance growing in him. “He was just here a second ago.”

“It is as though he is smoke,” Yeosang said. He giggled then. 

Seonghwa shot him a bewildered look. “You find this amusing?” At his sharp tone Yeosang sobered up quickly, shaking his head. “You _are_ irresponsible. Putting us all into danger.”

Yeosang opened his mouth to reply, but a familiar person appeared behind the younger Shadowhunter. “I am afraid we have not been introduced yet,” said Alexander Keaton, a shark like smile stretching out on his face.

“We have not,” Yeosang said, swirling around. “Wallie is not very keen on doing that, is he? Introductions.” Seonghwa swallowed, the blood in his veins running cold. They were doomed. He watched helplessly as Mr Keaton regarded Yeosang amusedly. “I have many names, but tonight I am here as Jinhyuk.” Yeosang smiled politely, ignoring the sharp intake of air Seonghwa took.

Seonghwa was most _definitely_ going to murder Yeosang once they were out of the mansion.

“Jinhyuk?” Alexander echoed. “I must say I am pleased to meet you, Jinhyuk. Alexander Keaton.”

“Oh, I know. I have heard quite a lot about you these past months. Interesting tales, though sadly Wallace was not quite clear on them. He told me I should come and see for myself.”

Alexander raised his eyebrows. “I safely assume you are here for business then, not as a volunteer?”

“No.” Yeosang shook his head. He grabbed Seonghwa’s elbow and dragged him forward. Seonghwa looked at him, alarmed, demanding an explanation, but Yeosang was completely ignoring him. “My dear friend here would serve as a marvelous subject. I have brought him as an incentive, you could say.”

The warlock eyed Seonghwa appreciatively, then he cleared his throat, snapping his eyes towards Yeosang again. “Unfortunately tonight is not about business. Not exactly, anyway. But if you are truly interested, I could propose you an offer. Wallace is holding a meeting with interested parties in his flat in Manhattan five days from today. You should come.”

“I shall consider your invitation. Thank you, Mr Keaton.”

“Alexander. You may call me Alexander. Especially if we will be future partners in business.” The warlock had a peculiar smile, searching Yeosang. His smile only broadened. “Well, I have to go back and greet my guests. Enjoy the ball, Jinhyuk.”

“I will.” Yeosang nodded his head and watched Mr Keaton walk away, blending into the crowd.

Once they were alone, Seonghwa grabbed Yeosang’s wrist to drag him to a more abandoned area of the mansion, between the many pillars. They were well hidden there. He twisted Yeosang’s arms so that the younger would look at him.

“What was that about?!” he asked in a hiss, glowering. “Why on Earth would you use my father’s name as an alias? Why did you use me as a—”

Yeosang didn’t try to free himself. He looked at Seonghwa with intense eyes, his pupils dilated. The way he looked was strangely off, his cheeks were weirdly flushed, and Seonghwa noticed Yeosang’s breath was coming out harshly, like he was having trouble breathing.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I… I cannot positively answer that.” Yeosang swallowed. “I fail to see why you would throw a fit, we got invited to a private meeting with Mr Grant. What more could we have—” He broke off, convulsing. Seonghwa let go off his wrist and Yeosang sank down on his knees, his head bowed low. His hands were balled into fists. His breath came out raggedly.

Seonghwa crouched down next to him, placing his hand on Yeosang’s back. “What happened? Are you quite all right?” Even through the shirt he could feel that Yeosang was burning up. The younger Shadowhunter let out an agony filled groan.

“Please get Hongjoong,” he asked quietly. “ _Please_.”

“Okay.” He turned on his heels, walking back into the crowd of Downworlders. He glanced back at Yeosang’s crouching form one last time. He was still on the floor, shaking visibly. Seonghwa might not find him agreeable, but he wouldn’t leave him to die. He pushed himself past bodies of demons, faeries, warlocks, until he reached the one person he was looking for. Thankfully, Hongjoong and Keonhee had stayed in the same exact spot, chatting animatedly to each other. “Mr Kim.”

“—Mallorca is beautiful around January, with the almond trees in full bloom,” Hongjoong was telling Keonhee. “We should visit it someday. Oh? Mr Park, what is it? Where is Yeosang?” he asked, interrupting his conversation to look at Seonghwa. Despite the mask the Shadowhunter was wearing his anxiety must have reflected starkly in his eyes. “What happened?”

“It is Mr Kang. He is burning up. I am not sure what happened to him…”

“Lead me to him,” Hongjoong requested. Before leaving he leaned towards the werewolf. “Keonhee be a darling and alarm my carriage driver? I think it is best I leave before I am found out to have brought Nephilim.”

“Much obliged.” Keonhee nodded his head.

When Seonghwa brought Hongjoong to Yeosang, the younger Shadowhunter was still shaking, his arms around himself as if he was in great pain. He looked up, his mask had slipped off his face, and his eyes were glassy, his long eyelashes fluttered as he stared at them with a helpless and tired look. His cheeks were still flushed and his hair had come loose, framing his face wildly.

Hongjoong crouched down, putting a hand on Yeosang’s forehead. He hummed. He snapped his fingers, blue sparks coming from the tip of his fingers and when he put them on Yeosang’s forehead again, the Shadowhunter let out a sigh of relief. The warlock looked up at Seonghwa. 

“He will be alright. It is just some side effect of the warlock potions. They hardly sit well on Nephilim. Still, we should probably leave.” He got up, pulling Yeosang with him. He placed the mask back on. “Lend me a hand, Mr Park. We should leave through the entrance you came in, be as undetected as possible.”

“Hongjoong!” came Keonhee’s voice, filled with worry. He was jogging over towards them, a troubling look crossing his face. “There was a fight in the gardens. They are aware of Nephilim attending the ball. Thankfully, the Shadowhunters escaped before they were caught.”

“Oh, bother,” Seonghwa muttered.

“Mingi,” Yeosang said worriedly. “Hwanwoong. Please, Mr Lee, can you—” He let out a shaking breath, coughing a bit. “Could you make sure my friends are safe?”

“Mr Park, take Yeosang outside. Meet me at the corner of Lexington Avenue. I will be there briefly. Keonhee and I will make sure your friends are safely escorted out of the mansion.” Hongjoong shifted Yeosang’s weight off his shoulder onto Seonghwa, then the warlock and the Child of the Moon walked into the crowd once again.

It didn’t take them long to exit the mansion, but to their bad luck there was a lesser demon lingering by the entrance. It turned its beady eyes on them the moment they were outside, snapping its pincers at them threateningly. Of course Alexander Keaton would have Shax demons roaming his mansion. Seonghwa cursed, shifting Yeosang’s weight so that he was leaning against the wall, and grabbed his seraph blade from under his suit jacket.

“ _Nuriel_ ,” he whispered and the blade sprung alive, casting a bright light around them. He swung it at the Shax demon, it let out a low growl. 

Seonghwa and the demon circled one another. In the darkness, its insect-like carapace looked a lot darker than they usually were. The Shax demon moved first, jumping towards the Shadowhunter, but Seonghwa moved swiftly to the side, swinging his blade at the back of the demon’s body, slashing an open wound. It wasn’t enough, but the demon let out a hissing sound of pain, convulsing before it turned around to face Seonghwa again. The Shadowhunter didn’t waste any time, moving his blade forward to stab the Shax demon. It exploded, leaving behind some ichor that Seonghwa was able to escape. 

“We need to get out of here immediately,” he said, getting a hold of Yeosang. Together they wobbled out of the mansion’s garden, thankfully not encountering any more Shax demons. 

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at Lexington Avenue, where Hongjoong was already waiting on them with Yunho and Mingi, the former looked angry while Mingi seemed guilty. His mask was off and his red hair a tousled mess. Hongjoong’s carriage wasn’t far from them.

“By the Angel, what happened?” Yunho asked.

“Shax demon,” Seonghwa explained, letting out a sigh of relief when Mingi grabbed Yeosang’s shoulders. For someone so delicate looking and small, he surely was heavy.

“Let us leave.” Hongjoong walked over to his carriage.

“Where are the others?” Yeosang asked, glancing around. He seemed to be feeling better, his face wasn’t as flushed anymore and his breathing came out normally. “What happened?”

“Mingi got into a fight with a Downworlder,” Yunho explained, his tone clipped.

“ _What_?!” Seonghwa whipped his head around to look at Mingi. “That was incredibly reckless! You put us all into danger.”

“I hate to say this, but I agree with Mr Park. Why did you do that Mingi?” Yeosang asked his friend, frowning. 

Seonghwa turned towards Yunho, addressing him, “Why did you not stop him?”

“Oh, I tried.” Yunho laughed bitterly. “But it was as though he was possessed.”

They all turned around to look at Mingi, waiting for an explanation. He looked at the group warily.

“Uhm, I got this,” he said as he retrieved something from his pocket. He held out his hand towards Yeosang, who looked at him in confusion at first. The anger suddenly vanished from his features, smoothing down his whole face until it was carefully blank. “A faerie woman was wearing it as a necklace,” Mingi explained. “That was the reason for the fight.”

“Mingi,” Yeosang started but no words followed. He looked pained.

Seonghwa leaned to the side so he could spot what exactly it was that Mingi was showing Yeosang. It was a silver ring attached to a chain.

Upon closer inspection, Seonghwa spotted a balance and swirls circling it, representing smoke. The Kang’s family ring, he realized. ‘ _The law of smoke_ ’ was their saying. The belief that they were adaptable even in the toughest of times—the Kang’s bloodline dated a long way back, they had gone through many difficulties and faced various reprimands—and that the Clave’s Law was applicable to _everyone_ , even someone as elusive as smoke. It used to be a different saying, Seonghwa’s father had told him once, but after the betrayal of notorious Shadowhunter Kang Naeun back in 1561—which had shattered the Nephilim world—they had adapted the ring and motto. 

Yeosang took the ring with a trembling hand, holding it between his index finger and thumb. It was as though he hesitated to put it on. Seonghwa only then noticed that Yeosang’s fingers were ringless. 

“Thank you,” Yeosang whispered, putting the silver chain around his neck. “Thank you, Mingi.” His arms came up to draw Mingi into a tight, brotherly embrace. “I apologize for yelling at you.”

“I _did_ compromise the mission.”

“As touching as this is, we should really go. We shall go to my apartment. No one knows I have been helping you. You should be safe there until dawn breaks, then you can head back to the Institute safely,” Hongjoong interrupted them.

“Your apartment?” Yunho repeated. “You are willingly inviting Shadowhunters to your personal home?”

“I am,” the warlock said, shaking his head at himself. “It really is a wonder. What has the world coming to?”

“Where are the others?” Yeosang asked again as he was helped inside the carriage by Mingi and Hongjoong.

“Keonhee is taking them to the apartment he is staying at. They are quite safe,” the warlock reassured him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *translation of spanish used:  
>  _mi niño_ \- my boy  
>  _eres un ángel_ \- you are an angel  
> 
> 
> EDIT 2021: I have written an alternative scene to the Downworlder Ball, called [Vying for Victory](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28386987)!


	6. The Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he looked up again, he was surprised to find Seonghwa looking at him. It was an electric gaze, stripped of all those walls and precautions he usually had put up in front of Yeosang. 
> 
> Right then it was just Seonghwa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's another long one, with some... interesting developments!!

**New York, November 6th 1899**

The warlock’s apartment was quite big, expanding on the first floor of a mundane clothing store. It was down by Howard Beach. From the window there was a spectacular view onto the Spring Creek Park; although this early in the day, Yeosang couldn’t really make out the green of the park, only the cusps of the trees, all dark and obscuring the sight of Jamaica Bay’s waters that lay beyond it. 

Hongjoong was in his kitchen, which served as a potion brewing stand at the same time. He was throwing together herbs and other ingredients with an ease and flourish that could only be achieved after years and years of practice. Yeosang wondered how old the warlock was.

Seonghwa and Yunho had taken their seats on a comfortable sofa by the fireplace. A large bookshelf stood to their right, lining the wall up and down, filled with books. Next to the kitchen was a corridor with several doors. A balcony spread out by the other side of the living room, its doors were closed, the curtains drawn shut, but they were out of silk so Yeosang could make out an impressive view onto Queens.

Mingi was leaning against the wall next to the entrance of the flat, looking a bit lost. They were still angry at him—well, except for Yeosang and Hongjoong. 

“This should completely nullify the effects of the warlock potions,” Hongjoong said, handing Yeosang the concoction he had just prepared. Yeosang downed it quickly, not wanting to taste it, but some of it lingered on the back of his tongue. He gagged. “That means it worked,” Hongjoong said, amused.

“Foul,” Yeosang muttered, putting the glass down. 

Hongjoong handed him a bright, green leaf. “Mint,” he explained. “To help with the after flavor.”

“What do we do now?” Seonghwa asked, jiggling his leg restlessly. Yeosang looked at him briefly. He should probably thank him for saving his life back at Mr Keaton’s mansion. 

“We wait,” said Hongjoong. “Or more accurately, _you_ wait until the sun comes out. Which should be in circa four hours. You are more than welcome to have a few drinks or rest in one of my guest rooms,” the warlock offered.

“I think I shall have a drink,” Mingi spoke up for the first time since they had left Manhattan. He didn’t look as pale as he had before, but he was still wary of the other Shadowhunters around him, aware of their anger towards him. “What do you have? You know what, just give me something strong.”

“Excellent choice!” Hongjoong grinned. He walked over to a cabinet in the living room, where an assortment of bottles was in, on top of the cabinet were several glasses, herbs, and spices to use for the drinks. As the warlock mixed something together for Mingi, Yeosang walked up to the sofa. He looked down at Seonghwa with a meaningful gaze.

“Could I speak to you, in private, Mr Park?” he asked.

Seonghwa looked up at him. His dark hair was messy and his mask was discarded on the sofa, red lines around his face where it had been pressed into his tanned skin earlier. There were bags under his eyes and his lips were raw with how much he had bitten on them. He looked oddly human then—vulnerable even. Not the strong and fierce Shadowhunter Yeosang was so accustomed to seeing.

“Much obliged.” Seonghwa stood up, following Yeosang out on the balcony.

“Refrain from doing anything I would not do,” Hongjoong called after them. Yunho choked out a short, breathy laugh. “You know, on second thought—” The remainder of his sentence was muffled as Seonghwa decidedly closed the balcony door behind him. 

He shook his head, his hair moving with the motion and the breeze that was blowing up from the Jamaican Bay through Queens, making it only more of a tousled mess. “He certainly has no shame,” he muttered, but there was a small smile playing on his lips. He regarded Yeosang curiously. “What did you want to speak about, Mr Kang?”

Yeosang hesitated.

He placed a hand on the ring dangling around his neck, it was comforting to feel its weight. He had felt so lost, all these years, without something of his parents that he could hold on to. Of course he still blamed himself for their deaths, and it wouldn’t leave just because he now was in possession of his family ring—he knew that much—but perhaps he’d allow himself to be a little bit honest.

“I wanted to express my gratitude,” he started. “You have saved my life tonight and I shall not forget that. I owe you.”

Seonghwa was silent, staring at him. Something akin guilt crossed his eyes and he looked down, his face disappearing in the shadows. “You owe me nothing,” he said quietly. “It would not have been useful for you to die tonight.”

Yeosang’s heart grew as cold as the breeze whipping their faces and hair. He nodded, turning around. He was already standing in front of the balcony door, grabbing its handle tightly, when he said, “I suppose you are free to tell your father about tonight’s events, considering it hardly went well.”

“I suppose,” Seonghwa only said, his voice thick with disquiet.

“I shall see you inside.” Yeosang went back into the warlock’s flat. Mingi was now on the sofa, where Seonghwa had sat earlier, holding a flute filled with some alcoholic beverage. It was already halfway empty. Yunho held a drink of his own and he didn’t seem as angry anymore, speaking to Hongjoong with fascination. “I will prepare myself something as well, if that is all right with you,” Yeosang announced, addressing the warlock.

“Be my guest,” Hongjoong said, swatting his hand in the air. “So there I was in Paris with my dear friend Seoho, attending a Downworlder ball, and to my surprise I encountered Kim Seokjin there; are you familiar with his work?” Yunho shook his head. “Well he was a fairly famous painter and—I suppose now he would be called a _clairvoyant_.”

“ _Clair_ —what?” Mingi asked, frowning.

“ _Clairvoyance_ ,” Hongjoong repeated, smiling kindly. “A mundane belief that one is able to predict or perceive the future. Fascinating if you ask me. Mundanes, for all their flaws and fears, are quite resilient and creative.”

“Do you believe it is true?” Yunho inquired, interested. “As a warlock you should know what is real magic and what is not.”

Hongjoong laughed. “I think I am not to judge mundane magic. It might not be our way of magic, but I would not discard it either. As Mr Kim said, if his clients believe in it, it might as well be true. He often said he saw himself more as a hope giver than anything else.” He glanced at Yeosang. “Did you find all you need?”

Yeosang nodded, finishing up a rather messy drink that he once had seen being prepared in a Downworlder inn, which he remembered to be extremely strong. He needed that right now. His conversation with Seonghwa had left him with an unpleasant twist in his stomach—plus, the entire night had been rocky from start to finish. 

“Yes. Thank you, Hongjoong.” He joined them on the sofa, taking the seat next to Hongjoong. Seonghwa was still outside.

“What did you say to him?” Yunho asked, noticing Yeosang’s lingering gaze on the balcony’s door. “You must have properly spooked him away.”

“I only thanked him for saving my life,” he defended himself. “It is Mr Park who is acting all strange.”

Yunho let out a sigh. He got up, patting Mingi’s leg in a strangely affectionate way. He walked towards the balcony, joining his friend outside. Yeosang noticed with interest that Mingi’s face had started to turn a dark shade of red and he was fumbling with his drink nervously.

“You said earlier that you had a fling with Michelangelo,” Mingi started up the conversation with Hongjoong. “He was a _man_ ,” he added meaningfully. Yeosang’s heart sank a little for reasons he did not quite know.

“He was,” Hongjoong agreed, nodding his head with a faint smile on his face. “And what a man he was—so beautiful and innovative. I think all immortals who had the chance did try to have a fling with Michelangelo, but only few succeeded. It certainly is a story to retell!”

“When were you born?” Yeosang questioned suddenly. “If you do not mind me asking.”

“Not at all. I was born in 1454 to a mundane mother and a Greater Demon. My mundane adoptive father had died before my birth under mysterious circumstances, but my mother _knew_. She knew what I was, but raised me lovingly despite my true nature,” he answered, his eyes suddenly becoming softer and sadder. “It was jarring to see her age and die while I remained as I am. I have not been to Korea since her death, four centuries ago.”

“Oh, I am sorry.”

The warlock shrugged. “It is part of the immortal life to watch those you love die. I have since then tried to keep my friends immortal, but once in a while there are mortals I simply cannot resist befriending.” He smiled sadly.

“Lee Keonhee,” Yeosang said. The warlock nodded his head. “How did you meet him?”

“We met in Shanghai. He was traveling around Asia as he comes from a family of merchants. He got bitten there and I happened to be around to save him and take him under my wings until he learned to control the moon’s phases and power.”

“You are very caring, are you not?” Mingi pointed out.

“What? Did you imagine me to be ruthless and cruel? I hardly would be surprised. Who knows what the Clave teaches you young Nephilim.” 

“No!” Mingi shook his head. “Many immortals I have encountered before were a bit… cynical. Age makes one cynical and cold.”

“I suppose it does. I definitely had my bad years,” he admitted. He glanced at the balcony when raised voices carried over to them. From behind the curtains, they could see Seonghwa and Yunho engaged in an argument, the latter stood with his arms crossed while the former was wildly gesturing with his hands as if he was trying to make Yunho understand something. “It does not seem to go well.”

“Mr Park is… difficult,” Yeosang confessed. “He is a very obedient Shadowhunter and son. You already know his father—Jinhyuk Park.”

Hongjoong grimaced. “Indeed. Not a pleasant man.” He hesitated, putting down the whiskey glass he was holding. “Irene mentioned that Jinhyuk appeared to be trying to take the Institute out of her hands; how is that going?”

“Mr Park tries, yes, but I fail to see him succeed.”

“Those are good news.”

The balcony’s door opened and in came Seonghwa like a storm. He looked furious and irritated. He stopped near Hongjoong, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“I shall take you up on the offer to catch some sleep in one of your guest rooms.”

Hongjoong blinked. “Certainly,” he said and pointed his index finger at the corridor. “The first door to the left.”

“Thank you.” Seonghwa vanished as quickly as he had come, his footsteps loud for a Shadowhunter.

It was early when the two carriages pulled up at Utica Avenue. The sun wasn’t out yet, but the sky was already clearing up. It seemed to be a nice day: the sky was free of clouds and the birds in the trees lining the avenue were chirping in a hopeful manner.

The group of Shadowhunters was quiet and a tiredness pulled at them that showed in their faces: the bags underneath their eyes, their pale skin… 

Yeosang was half asleep, leaning against the window of the carriage. Mingi sat opposite of him. Yunho and Seonghwa were in the other carriage. Hongjoong had gotten out a message to the Conta twins to pick them up. 

It was a relief when they arrived at Union Street and at the gates of the Institute, Yeosang could see Hwanwoong, Mina, and Jinsoul standing as they waited. They appeared to be okay. Keonhee was with them, after all he was meant to meet Irene.

“Oh, thank Raziel, you are all well!” exclaimed Jinsoul, rushing over to them as they exited the carriages. The Conta twins rode to the stables as the Shadowhunters reunited. To Yeosang’s surprise Mina gave him a bone crushing hug, she drew away to then embrace Yunho. “We were worried sick!”

“As we were,” Yeosang assured her. “Hwanwoong.” He passed a hand over his friend’s shoulder, patting him on his back. “You look awful.”

Hwanwoong’s clothes were torn, dried blood decorated them horribly. “As do you.” He glanced at the group, making sure they were all okay. “We should head inside, Irene is most likely worried sick.”

They needn’t to walk far for Irene bursted through the Institute’s entrance, still dressed in her nightgown, and she hurried the steps down to embrace her boys in a tight hug. “You had me worried,” she muttered. She was clasping Yeosang’s face, checking him for wounds, then proceeded to do the same with Hwanwoong and Mingi. Once she was sure they were well she looked at the other Shadowhunters. “I should not have agreed to this mission. It was dangerous.”

“Do not worry. And we were successful,” Yeosang assured her, blushing slightly at her motherly ways. “I arranged us a meeting with Alexander Keaton, Wallace Grant, and others.”

Irene gave him a funny look. “Yeo, although I do care about the state of this mission, it is far more important to me that you are all safe,” she said, seriously, still fretting over them. “We should get inside before the other residents of the Institute awake and question why you are all up and in such a state.” Yeosang could see in her frail state that she hadn’t slept the entire night, worrying over them. It was only then that she took notice of the werewolf amidst them. “Oh, I apologize,” she muttered, reaching out her hand. “I am Bae Irene.”

“Lee Keonhee,” the werewolf introduced himself, taking her hand, kissing the top of it in a charming way. “I decided to accompany these Nephilim as I was told to meet you, Miss Bae. I have traveled from Seoul here to visit my dear friend, Hongjoong. I think he might have mentioned me?”

Irene blushed then, nodding her head. All the worried lines vanished from her face and she looked serious.

“Yes, indeed he did. I am sorry I did not recognize you earlier, Mr Lee. I shall show you to my study, where we can talk.” Keonhee nodded his head, curtly, and waited for Irene to guide him into the Institute. She regarded the young Shadowhunters with a kind look. “As for you lot, go get cleaned up and rest. You have done more than enough tonight. We shall talk later.”

Yeosang nodded, grateful for the possibility to lie in his bed and catch up on sleep. He felt worn out and as if the entire world was resting on his shoulders, dragging him down into the pits of Hell. He passed a hand over his family ring around his neck; although he had felt relieved to have it back, the memories of that night in Warsaw started to break through the corners in his mind and filter into his consciousness. He could taste the icy wind and the thick snowflakes falling down onto him as he had walked into the forest behind the Kang’s family house.

Yeosang shook his head, hoping these memories would dissolve into the air like ashes that rose from a fire in the middle of the night, vanishing into the darkness. He turned to look at his companions, his throat tight as his eyes passed over Seonghwa. He knew the older Shadowhunter wouldn’t waste any time in confiding with his father about the actions that night. For some reason Yeosang had believed, even if briefly, that Seonghwa would join their side. Yunho, Mina, and Jinsoul seemed more than ready to do so, if that night was of any indication.

Wordlessly, Yeosang climbed up the Institute’s stairs, pushing open the door. He didn’t wait for the others as he walked towards his chamber.

When he lay himself to sleep, he dreamed of a green forest in full bloom, it was so vivid he could almost smell the scent of the flowers and taste the spring in the air. He walked through the forest with his fingertips passing over the leaves of the bushes and young trees. He wasn’t quite sure why he was there, but something about that forest felt homely and safe. It reminded him a bit of the green forests in Idris.

He reached a pond, where a young man stood, his back towards Yeosang. He had raven black hair and was dressed in a white suit—the Shadowhunters’ funeral gear, he realized. He couldn’t recognize the man’s face, it was a shapeless blur, but what startled Yeosang was the familiarity and gentleness in which the young man reached out his hand towards Yeosang’s face, cradling it softly. More surprising was the fact that Yeosang leaned into the touch, fluttering his eyes close, and letting the man kiss him tenderly.

It was as though he floated above Earth then, elevated from all his worries for just a split second, because then fear tore through his mind like a knife cutting through a curtain, slashing it into pieces. Yeosang’s dream became a nightmare, screams filling every corner of his dream world. Maybe this _was_ Hell, he reasoned.

The same blurry young man he had kissed seconds ago was laughing at him now, something twisted about his image that broke Yeosang’s heart. Fear consumed him until he woke up with a muffled scream.

“Mr Kang!” Miss Anne cried worriedly. She had been just behind his door, about to knock. She made her way over to his four post bed, setting down a silver tray containing tea and two toasts with butter and ham. “Mr Kang, are you all right?” she inquired, keeping a distance from his bed as it would have seemed inappropriate for her to step any closer.

Yeosang blinked at her, his heart still racing. He feared it would stop any moment now. He was drenched in sweat, he could smell its stark, unpleasant scent. He swallowed, running a hand through his hair.

“It was just a bad dream,” he told her.

Miss Anne hesitated for a moment. “Miss Bae requests your presence in her study.”

“I will be there in a moment.”

When Miss Anne left his chamber, Yeosang lay in his bed for a second with his eyes shut close tight, watching the different colorful explosions behind his eyelids until the pounding between his brows started to cease. With a difficult sigh, he got up.

His family ring felt cool on his chest.

**~*~**

After trying to catch up on some restless sleep, Seonghwa headed over to his father’s chambers. He hadn’t really been able to shut his eyes over at Hongjoong’s flat either, lying in the guest room with his eyes opened as he thought about his conversation with Yunho. It hadn’t gone how he had imagined and he knew well that his friend was angry at him for siding with Jinhyuk; but what else was Seonghwa supposed to do? He couldn’t just discard his father and their bond for some Downworlders; for some Shadowhunters he barely knew. Yeosang might have his alliances towards Irene, but Seonghwa’s lay with his father.

He wasn’t surprised to find Jinhyuk awake, sitting by his desk as he smoked a cigar and was reading through some documents. He looked up in surprise when he saw Seonghwa entering his chamber unannounced, not even bothering to knock.

“Son, you know how I feel about—”

“Father. I bring information,” Seonghwa interrupted him, knowing how rude that was, but his mind was going too fast for him to catch up.

If he didn’t reveal the night’s events now, he knew he wouldn’t end up doing it at all. And that would be a lot worse, he believed. If Jinhyuk discovered that his son had gone to the Downworlder’s ball through a different source, it would hold catastrophic consequences for Seonghwa. He couldn’t risk being on bad terms with his father. He rushed over to the seat in front of the desk. His father’s face was a blank mask, his eyebrows raised in anticipation. The cigar’s smoke created a strange kind of veil in front of his face.

“We were at the Annual Winter Downworlder Ball last night,” he started.

Jinhyuk’s masks was torn off to reveal anger and something else—something akin fear. “ _What_?!”

Seonghwa began explaining the events of the night and about the strange vampire they had found by Sunset Park, where they had gotten the ball’s information from. He told him all about Alexander Keaton and the invitation they had gotten to the meeting in Manhattan. When Seonghwa reached the end of his story, his father had put his cigar down and was staring at his son with an expression Seonghwa had never seen directed at him: betrayal.

“You went to this ball without my consultation,” Jinhyuk said in a low voice.

“I had to act quick, father—”

“You should have informed me beforehand. We agreed you would inform me of the every move Miss Bae and that group of boys she calls Shadowhunters take. It was a simple request and you failed.” Jinhyuk shook his head, pouring himself a glass of whisky. “I am greatly disappointed in you, son.”

Seonghwa opened his mouth to defend himself, but he didn’t know what else he was meant to say. He had come to his father immediately to reveal to him about how Irene had gone behind his back, about valuable information they had gathered regarding the mission… Seonghwa had thought his father would be appreciative and reward his son, but instead he felt his heart shatter at the impassive look on Jinhyuk’s face. 

Seonghwa thought back to the moment they had gotten back to the Institute, and Irene had been so preoccupied with making sure her boys were not hurt that she hadn’t even realized Keonhee’s presence. She wasn’t even related to Yeosang, Mingi, or Hwanwoong and yet she had acted in such a caring nature, as if they all shared the same blood.

It made his heart hurt and yearn for his mother. She always had secretly showered Seonghwa with love, when Jinhyuk wasn’t around for he would have scolded her, saying she was softening Seonghwa’s heart too much. 

_A Shadowhunter is a warrior, he shouldn’t be weak_ , had been Jinhyuk’s words. They were burned into Seonghwa’s brain.

“I am not sure how I feel about this little adventure of yours,” Jinhyuk continued. “I shall think about it. Please leave my chamber now, son.” He dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “Know that I had expected better from you.”

Seonghwa clenched his hands, standing up from his seat abruptly to leave his father’s chamber. His mind was spinning and his heart was racing as it tried to escape the pain these words caused in him. He wanted to rip off his skin, he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, he wanted to hold his hand over an open flame and let it consume all of his pain, he wanted to—

He bumped into a solid body on his way to his own room, where he had wanted to crawl under the covers and sleep off the hurt in him, hopefully waking up to a better morning than the one he was having. 

The person let out a yelp, their arms coming around Seonghwa to prevent him from falling.

“Watch where you are going!” Seonghwa hissed through his teeth, not bothering to check who it was.

“Oh, that is rich coming from you, Mr Park,” came Yeosang’s voice, cold as ice, sharp as a knife.

Seonghwa wanted to let out his anger and frustration. He spun around and seized up Yeosang, grabbing him by the neck of his deep red button up, messing up the material as he pushed the younger against the wall of the corridor. His other hand was still clenched into a fist, all the pain and anger within the palm of his hand, where his nails were drawing blood from how tightly he was clenching it. With everything that was running through his mind, he drew back his arm and punched Yeosang in his face, most likely breaking his nose in the process—not that it mattered much, with an _Iratze_ rune he could easily heal it. 

“Ow! By the Angel, what was _that_ for?” Yeosang protested, quickly covering his nose with both of his hands, blood dripping through his ringless fingers.

“You were in my way,” Seonghwa said, stepping back. 

He didn’t feel better, not at all.

“That is _not_ an excuse,” Yeosang muttered as he drew the Healing rune on the inside of his arm with swift movements. A pained expression crossed his face as his nose healed. He brushed his clothed arm over his nose, mouth, and jaw; the color of his blood blended in well with the deep red of his shirt. “I only came to inform you that we are going to meet with Irene now to retell the events of the night. She wants you there.”

“Pass.”

“You cannot just—You were part of this. It is crucial that you explain your part,” Yeosang insisted, his hand coming around Seonghwa’s wrist to prevent him from leaving. “Did you tell your father?” he asked then, quietly.

Seonghwa stayed silent. “Yes,” he finally answered. Yeosang scoffed, muttering something under his breath. “You knew I would.”

“Indeed.” Yeosang pulled at his wrist and to his own surprise Seonghwa let himself be dragged towards Irene’s study. 

His mind kept replaying the tender way in which Irene had held Yeosang’s face, making sure he wasn’t hurt, above anything else. He could feel his eyes burn, so he blinked rapidly to prevent the tears from falling, he couldn’t afford that, even less with Yeosang present. He’d surely laugh in his face for being so weak. 

“You know Irene cares for you, too, despite that you are Mr Park’s son. She asked us if any of you were hurt,” Yeosang suddenly said. They stood in front of the staircase that led down to the ground floor. His words were spoken in a quiet and meaningful manner, as if he knew just how badly Seonghwa’s heart hurt. He glanced at the older, something flashing in his eyes. “She cares for you,” he repeated, quieter this time.

“She should not.”

“I hardly think you can control that.” Yeosang let go of his wrist and Seonghwa missed the warmth of his fingers. He wondered if it was that he simply had missed a caring touch or if there was something deeper to it. He shook his head, not wanting to entertain that thought further. Yeosang’s gaze was scrutinizing, as if he could see right through Seonghwa’s armor. “Are you all right?”

Seonghwa staggered backwards. He needed—He couldn’t—

“I am fine,” he said, the words felt like poison on his tongue, leaving behind a bitter taste.

He kept seeing his father’s face, the disappointment and betrayal in his eyes, bright as a flame. _Know that I had expected better from you._

He had failed.

“If you ever need someone,” Yeosang started hesitantly, Seonghwa’s heart began burning in his chest, “I know that Irene would listen.” Seonghwa swallowed; was he feeling disappointed?

“I shall remember that,” he said, flushing in shame and embarrassment.

“Mr—” Yeosang started, then shook his head, and said, “Seonghwa.”.

 _Raziel, what is up with him?_ Seonghwa wondered, usually the younger Shadowhunter avoided him as if he had _demon pox_. 

“What?” He looked at Yeosang, at those dark brown eyes that always looked as if they were completely black, a bottomless pit that held a magnetizing power. Seonghwa couldn’t move, couldn’t look away, he was being pulled in.

“There is no need to force an alliance,” he started. “Even if it is your family.”

Seonghwa stared at him silently. Yeosang’s parents had died about a decade ago, mauled by werewolves somewhere in Europe when they had been visiting their winter mansion near Warsaw. What did he know about the blood that tied one to their family? About the duty, the respect, the obligations… 

“I am not sure I know what you mean,” he said, scoffing. He took one step down the staircase, wanting to put a finish to this conversation, but Yeosang grabbed his wrist once again, stopping him.

“You do not have to listen to your father,” he said, quietly. “You do not have to—”

Seonghwa removed his arm forcefully, turning around to face Yeosang. Now that he was standing on a step below the younger Shadowhunter, they were the same height—Seonghwa was possibly a little smaller than Yeosang like this. He stared up at him, anger coursing through his veins and becoming a cackling electricity all around him. 

Yeosang’s gaze was unreadable, his dark hair was pulled away from his face. The witchlight hanging to their right illuminated only one side of his face, the red birthmark on his cheek stood out noticeably.

“Do not speak to me as if you know me,” Seonghwa hissed, pulling his eyes away from Yeosang. He turned on his heels and jogged down the stairs towards Irene’s study. For a while, the corridors in the Institute were quiet, but then he heard Yeosang follow him at a distance.

Irene was dressed in fighting gear and her hair was fixed into a ponytail, but there were still traces of a sleepless night pulling at her face. She looked much younger than she actually was, closer to their age. For a second, Seonghwa felt bad about his father’s plans to take the position away from her, he felt bad for aiding his father. Irene was just a young adult trying her best—no leader was perfect—but she still had the heart in the right place when making decisions, something Seonghwa’s father had lost long ago—if he ever had possessed that.

“I have bad news,” Irene started off when all of them were in the study. She was standing near the fireplace, her hand resting on the surface where a row of picture-less frames were standing. She had a serious look on her face. “It turns out one of Mr Park’s loyal followers saw you sneak out last night, and I can only imagine he already told him.” Seonghwa looked at the floor, guilt filling him. So his father had known about them sneaking out. His skin prickled uncomfortably. “There was a lengthy meeting as you were all resting. We came to the conclusion that it is best if you all refrain from partaking in this mission for the time being,” Irene told them, anger flashing over her face. “It was not my decision, but Mr Park can be very persuasive.”

“ _What_?!” Yeosang and Yunho said at the same time. “That is incredibly stupid; do we not need as many Shadowhunters as possible to solve this matter?” Yeosang questioned.

Irene laughed bitterly. “Believe me, I tried to argue on your behalf—and although many agreed with me—this was the outcome. I apologize.” She faltered. “I should have done a better job at protecting you.”

“No, it is not your fault, Irene,” said Hwanwoong.

Seonghwa clenched his fists.

This was his father punishing him for not telling him what he had been up to. Seonghwa had already been suspicious about his father simply dismissing him, he had believed his disappointment in Seonghwa had been his punishment, but it was clear Jinhyuk had already decided long before Seonghwa had paid him a visit. He had never even given Seonghwa a chance to explain himself.

The fury and hurt within him tangled together and he felt short of breath, his nails cutting open the palms of his hands like a blunt knife. It was painful, but the sharpness of the pain kept his head in Irene’s study.

“Now, tell me about your findings tonight. I shall try to find a way to lift this ridiculous punishment,” Irene said, walking towards the seat by her desk. “But I know you,” she began, quietly, shooting a glance at Yeosang, “and this punishment will not stop you—neither will I. From now on, you will have to keep me in the dark as well and act on your own. I cannot chance any more disagreements with Mr Park.” She glanced at Seonghwa then, a bit guiltily. She cleared her throat. “Did you father say anything?”

Seonghwa was silent for a moment, trying to calm himself down. “He only mentioned how deeply disappointed he was in me,” he responded curtly.

Yunho and Mina shot him worried looks. Jinsoul was biting her lower lip nervously.

“I’m very sorry we caused you trouble, Irene,” apologized Yunho. “If there is anything I could do as the Consul’s son—”

But Irene shook her head. “No. The battle for the International Institute is mine. I do not want you to end up on bad terms with you father for trying to help me.” She gazed at the lot of them with a calculating look upon her face. “Just promise me you will keep trying to find the truth.”

“Of course,” said Mingi. 

Yeosang nodded his head, his face dark. His previous words echoed in Seonghwa’s mind; that Irene would help him. Seonghwa wondered if that really was the truth.

**~*~**

_New York_

_November 6th 1899_

> _My dearest Yeosang,_
> 
> _it is my pleasure to invite you to my 445th birthday. Of course your close friends, as well as Mr Park and his acquaintances, are more than welcomed to come. The party will be held on November 7th at my mansion in Oakland Gardens, Bell Boulevard. Please dress as fancy as possible, I do love a good dress up party, as you know._
> 
> _Presents are not required, but I hardly would turn one down._
> 
> _I await your response, hoping it will be positive._
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Hongjoong_
> 
> _PS: I have acquired valuable information about Wallace Grant’s background that I am positive you would like to hear._

**~*~**

**New York, November 7th 1899**

It felt a lot like when they had sneaked out to attend the Downworlder Ball two nights ago, merging with the shadows so none of the patrolling Shadowhunters outside the Institute would spot them. Jinhyuk had ordered some of his closer followers to stand guard to prevent any of them from sneaking out again, but unlike these Shadowhunters, Yeosang and his friends knew the Institute inside out—every little crack, every hidden passage or corridor, they knew where exactly they led. 

There was a canal passage that had been built into the Institute as a secret escape in case of emergency. It had been shut off for the past century as there hadn’t been need for it, but Yeosang had made himself familiar with it just in case, and that night his paranoid knowledge of escape routes came in handy. 

After receiving Hongjoong’s letter, he had immediately consulted Mingi and Hwanwoong, the latter had ultimately decided to stay in for the night whereas Mingi had agreed to come along. Much to Yeosang’s chagrin, Mingi had told Yunho, who then had told Seonghwa. Mina and Jinsoul had wanted to come along as well, and so the six Shadowhunters found themselves somewhere in the Institute’s basement, where spiderwebs covered the ceiling of the narrow stone tunnel.

Yeosang wasn’t sure when the last time was that someone had used it aside from himself years ago, when he first had arrived at the Institute and had taken it upon himself to explore every inch of it.

“This is it,” he muttered under his breath as he unlocked a hidden door in the wall. “Come on.” He gestured his hand at the group, telling them to go through. Seonghwa shot him a brief glance before he ducked his head to enter the tunnel. 

Yeosang ignored the cold shoulder the other was giving him, it wasn’t anything new, and he still remembered Seonghwa punching him for no apparent reason. 

It had hurt.

Yeosang was the last one to enter the tunnel, shutting the door close behind him. They all carried their witchlights, the white-ish light illuminated the narrow stone walls making the moss and webs stand out in a ghostly manner. Small pools of stale water on the ground reflected the witchlights, giving the resemblance of a starry ground.

“On second thought, I should have dressed in gear,” complained Yunho from somewhere ahead. “I feel very exposed wearing just some loose pants and button up. It is a long way to Manhattan…”

“We will be fine,” Yeosang assured him. “Besides, it would be odd to show up in fighting gear at a party. There will be a lot of Downworlders there, it is already risky for us to show up.”

“I regret agreeing to this,” Seonghwa muttered.

“Why did you?” Mina inquired, glancing back at him.

Seonghwa only shrugged. 

Yeosang had found it odd, considering how much against their previous mission Seonghwa had been, not that _this_ was a mission, _per se_. Yeosang hadn’t spoken to the older Shadowhunter ever since their conversation the day before, which had ended rather badly, but there was something different about Seonghwa. His usual high and mighty attitude seemed dim, and there was now a look of permanent resignation coloring his face.

“It is not much like you to come to a Downworlder’s birthday, Seonghwa,” pointed out Jinsoul, her tone loud in the quiet darkness of the tunnel. “Is anything the matter?” Her inquiring words bounced off the walls. 

Seonghwa stopped in his tracks. Yeosang nearly bumped into him.

“I believe I cannot disappoint my father any further, might as well take a night off and forget my troubles,” Seonghwa said, his voice strained. Yeosang wished he could see his face. It was very odd for Seonghwa to be this vulnerable, especially since Yeosang and Mingi were present.

“You did what you thought was the right thing,” told him Yunho. “We coerced you into agreeing with us. Did you not tell him that?”

Seonghwa stayed quiet, but he had begun walking again.

Yunho sighed. “You have turned nineteen this year. You should be able to think and act on your own accord, not with your father pulling the strings.”

“ _Yunho_ ,” hissed Mina, and the sound of a jab resonated in the tunnel, followed closely by a yelp. “This is not the place to discuss that.”

“Why not? It is not as if Yeosang could despise him any more,” Yunho said, scoffing. 

_No_ , Yeosang thought, _I could not. Quite the opposite._

“If you must know, Yunho, father scolded me. He was not happy in the slightest. You were right, I should not have told him about our trip to the ball,” Seonghwa said, quietly, but in the already present quietude his words were loud and clear.

“Can you not keep this for a different moment? We are about to attend a party. This is hardly setting the mood,” Yeosang complained, but his heart had dropped a little at Seonghwa’s words. Was he showing empathy towards his enemy? That couldn’t be right! “Thankfully, I have come prepared for this.” He took out a little metallic flask from the inside chest pocket of the coat he was wearing. He unscrewed it expertly with one hand and took a swing. The liquor burned his throat and it felt ticklish in his stomach.

Mingi had immediately recognized the sound of his action and let out a sigh. “Really, Yeo? You do know we still have at least two hours of walking ahead of us.”

Yeosang grinned. “We do not. Hongjoong organized us a ride. He said they would be waiting by Eastern Parkway.”

“That _is_ convenient,” Seonghwa said under her breath.

“He _is_ quite meticulous.”

Seonghwa huffed. “I still do believe he is suspicious.”

“I hope you will not say that to his face— _on his birthday_ ,” Yeosang told him.

“As I said before, I am attending to get rid of my worries. I shall stay away from him as much as possible.”

“Now that is just rude!”

Seonghwa let out an annoyed sigh and turned his head slightly to glower at Yeosang, who shot him a grin.

“Why can you two never play nice with each other?” Jinsoul complained at the same time as Mingi said, “We have reached the exit.”

They had just entered Bell Boulevard, and through the little window of the carriage, Yeosang could spot Hongjoong’s mansion in Oakland Gardens. It rested in the distance, with as many lights as stars there were in the sky.

The mansion wasn’t as enormous or majestic as Alexander Keaton’s was. There wasn’t a wall surrounding it or a beautiful garden lined with decorative statues that gave it an impression of a graveyard. Yeosang had read a mundane book about Greek mythology—he had wanted to see if they had gotten anything of the Shadow World right in their stories—and there had been the myth of Medusa, how she’d turn people into stone. Mr Keaton’s garden had looked a lot like she had been there.

Hongjoong’s mansion was smaller, a lot more discreet, which was surprising for a warlock. They liked their flourish and competition of richness, their hedonism was never short. But then again, Hongjoong had proven to be different from other warlocks Yeosang had met beforehand. 

The carriage stopped and the three Shadowhunters exited it with careful movements. Yeosang helped Jinsoul step down as she was wearing a beautiful and artsy dress, with many bowties and laces. To Yeosang it seemed impractical. Then again, he found any dress impractical. He did understand their beauty, though, and Jinsoul looked charming and like a queen—it seemed as though Mina did think so too. Her eyes had lingered on Jinsoul for most part of the night, ever since they had sneaked out of the Institute. 

(Yeosang thought back to what Hwanwoong had said, about Mina appearing to be overly interested in Jinsoul. Was it possible…?)

Speak of the Devil: Yeosang’s cousin came rushing towards them, a pinched expression on her delicate features. 

“What a dreadful ride that was!” Mina complained as she linked her arm with Jinsoul’s. “Do not get between Yunho and Seonghwa while they are fighting,” she advised them, her tone hushed as the aforementioned boys were climbing out of their carriage. “It gets petty and—”

“Why were they fighting?” Mingi interrupted her, glancing at Yunho and Seonghwa as he was fixing the buttons on his coat’s sleeves. 

Mingi had his hair styled away from his face; it had taken him a lot of effort to master that, but Jinsoul had aided him some during the carriage ride, and now there were pins in his blood red hair. His spectacles sat atop his nose, a bit dirty as he constantly forgot to clean them properly—it always ended up being Yeosang or Hwanwoong that had to clean them.

“Oh, you know…” Mina waved her hand in a dismissive manner. “The same as always. I think it is just a prolonged fight at this point, which they pick up at any given moment.” She grimaced.

Their hushed conversation died down when Yunho and Seonghwa were finally standing with them. They eyed their friends suspiciously, but didn’t comment on it, instead Seonghwa took the lead and walked up to the small gate of the mansion. He could have easily opened it, but he waited patiently for the faerie woman that was standing guard by the mansion’s door to receive them properly.

Hongjoong’s mansion wasn’t very tall or very wide—most likely there were two stories and an attic. But what it lacked in dimension, Hongjoong had more than made up with decoration and aesthetic. There might not have been statues guarding his small garden, but there were beautiful rose bushes, as well as other flowers and bushes—most still in bloom despite the cold Autumn weather, and Yeosang suspected Hongjoong’s magic had a bit to do with that—and there were high columns, lining the path to the entrance of the mansion, raked with moss and vines.

The mansion itself looked like any New York building for the exception of the colorful glass and the vines growing and snaking up the building, as though it was slowly being swallowed by nature. Hongjoong’s mansion resembled something of a ruin, a forgotten land that nature was claiming back, and somehow—Yeosang figured—it was very fitting for the warlock. 

He too was doomed to be forgotten by time as he was immortal, and only nature could claim him back.

The faerie woman guided them up to the mansion and opened its door with a swift movement. She wished them a pleasant night, winking at them in a rather suggestive way. Seonghwa’s back stiffened and he walked inside quickly. Yeosang grinned, bowing his head in the direction of the faerie woman. Mingi and Yunho were the last ones to pass through the threshold, distracted in a conversation they were having.

Yeosang had noticed Mingi getting along rather well with Yunho, he wasn’t sure what to make of it—and if Mingi’s interest in Yunho was genuine or because he was the Consul’s son. But Mingi would never befriend somebody for their political status.

The insides of Hongjoong’s mansion were beautifully lit: all soft yellows and oranges, and so many other colors attacked Yeosang’s eyes. There were deep red curtains hanging by the windows, and blue carpets lining the floors. Purple and green and turquoise flowers decorating the columns holding up the second floor. Hongjoong had a thing for colors, assumed Yeosang, so much was clear. Somehow all these colors worked well together. 

It was as though Hongjoong had wanted to bring a rainbow into his home. Everyone’s favorite color had to be present.

The host of the party was in the center of the living room, holding a flute of some bubbly liquid, surrounded by a group of Downworlders that he was chatting animatedly with. He did spot the Shadowhunters immediately and excused himself, walking over to them. Yeosang could make out Keonhee in between the crowd of guests, he was talking to a young man with dark hair and pale skin. The man’s chest was unmoving. 

It was unusual for a Child of the Moon and a Child of the Night to get along, but leave it to Hongjoong to master even this impossibility.

“I am glad you could make it,” said the warlock once he stood with them. He called over one of the servants and offered the Shadowhunters some drinks. Seonghwa eyed the liquids suspiciously. Hongjoong laughed. “Do not worry, Mr Park, these will not give you any side effects. This is just some regular, mundane drink.” Seonghwa took one of the flutes, downing it in one go, and then grabbed another one. “Someone is thirsty.”

“It has been a rough two days since we last saw you,” Yunho commented, meekly, as he too grabbed a flute. “Your party could not have come at a better time.”

“I am glad my birthday could offer a distraction.”

“I apologize that we could not get you any presents,” muttered Mingi, scratching his neck awkwardly.

“Oh, that is most fine. Do not worry, little Nephilim.” Hongjoong swatted his hand dismissively. Then he reconsidered his statement. “Or I suppose, ‘little’ hardly is a word associated with you.” 

Mingi cracked a smile. “I suppose not.”

“I would introduce you to my guests, but I am afraid over the centuries I have made one too many acquaintances, and I am not sure how well some of them would react being introduced to your kind,” Hongjoong commented, glancing around the living room. “My dearest Keonhee is present, so you know at least one of them. And I am sure Seoho would not be too opposed to meeting you,” he added, gesturing at the vampire speaking with Keonhee. He leaned in closer to them, his voice dropping low. “Regarding Mr Grant, I have discovered some oddities when it comes to his family tree. His father was a mundane man like any other, but his mother… Well, she died of young age, but her grave is empty. Which would not be unusual if her body had been lost in the vast ocean during a shipwreck, but the reports say she was brutally murdered and buried in Brooklyn.”

Yeosang cocked his head thoughtfully. “Do you reckon Wallie knows about his mother’s corpse’s whereabouts?”

“I am not sure. You will have to find out once you attend the meeting with Mr Keaton, and their other associates,” Hongjoong told him. “I have a feeling, though, that something dark is deeply rooted in Grant’s family. No person escapes death for a price.”

“I shall try my best to discover the truth then,” Yeosang said, determined.

“Now, enough about politics and dreadful topics, this is a party and you should enjoy it as one,” Hongjoong said, snapping his fingers to refill the Shadowhunters’ glasses anew. “If there is _anything_ you need, come find me—or talk to Keonhee or Seoho.” With that the warlock disappeared into the crowd with ease, chatting up guests on his leave.

“He never fails to make an impression, does he?” Jinsoul said, a bit starry eyed as she watched him go.

“Eh.” Mina shrugged. “I want to believe it is all in that warlock flair,” she said, eyebrows raised as she stared after him.

Jinsoul laughed, locking her arm with Mina. “Oh, come on, Mina. You do find him interesting too; do you not?”

Mina pulled a face, but her strong façade dropped seconds later and she nodded her head, giving up.

“I do agree with Mina,” Seonghwa mumbled over the rim of the flute, glaring after Hongjoong.

“Do not be rude to the party host,” Yunho chastised him with a short shake of his head. “Now, shall we mingle?”

Jinsoul and Mina didn’t have to be told twice, they took the chance to disappear into the crowd, an overly excited Yunho followed them, dragging Mingi along with him. Yeosang watched in betrayal as his friend abandoned him, leaving him alone with Seonghwa.

He hummed, glancing at Seonghwa, who was helping himself to what Yeosang believed was his third drink. 

“This is just phenomenal,” he said to himself. “Here I am at a great Downworlder party and I am left to look after the grumpy kid.”

Seonghwa shot him a poisonous look. “You can wander off. I am good on my own.”

Yeosang wanted to believe those words, and really, why should he care? But guilt nagged at him, telling him it would be extremely irresponsible and mean to leave Seonghwa alone in such a state. He recalled the celebration about a year ago, when he had gotten into a drunken fight with Seonghwa. He knew it was not going to benefit anyone if he left the older Shadowhunter on his own.

With a resigned sigh, Yeosang trailed after Seonghwa as he made his way over to one of the servants walking around the mansion, a silver tray in their hand. Seonghwa reached for one of the flutes, putting down his empty one. 

Yeosang considered smacking Seonghwa’s hand away, but he decided against it. Whatever internal turmoil the older was going through, it wasn’t his business—it wasn’t his place to interfere. He watched as Seonghwa tipped his head back, drinking the fizzy liquid like it was water. Yeosang scrunched up his nose, looking down at his own half empty drink. 

_Might as well join him_ , he thought, tipping his own head back.

“You do not need to look after me,” Seonghwa protested, purposefully walking into the crowd in long strides. “I am _not_ a child.”

“Oh, I most certainly do,” Yeosang said back, following him with difficulty as the people closed behind Seonghwa, making it hard for Yeosang to spot him.

With a groan, he pushed himself through the crowd, careful not to spill what was left of his drink, and searched to the raven haired Shadowhunter. He found Seonghwa standing not far from him, leaning against the wall as he stared off into the distance, his eyes unseeing. Despite his faraway look, there was something enticing and alluring about him. 

Seonghwa stood there, unaware of all the bright eyes that looked in his direction—wondering and curious, some undressing him as they kept their distance. Because just as beautiful as Seonghwa looked, there was something so obviously shattered about his aura.

Perhaps it was some of the alcohol coursing through Yeosang’s body, or perhaps it was his inability of staying out of trouble, or perhaps it was that small shimmer of empathy within him that wanted to make sure Seonghwa wasn’t in pain.

Yeosang walked over to him, positioning himself right in front of the older Shadowhunter, rudely snapping his fingers in front of Seonghwa’s face.

Seonghwa blinked, his gaze focusing on Yeosang. At first it was empty, then there was _something_ there, then it morphed into annoyance.

“What do you want, Mr Kang?” he drawled out.

Yeosang considered his words carefully.

“You look like you could use company.”

“Certainly not yours,” Seonghwa snapped.

Yeosang considered walking away. But he didn’t. Something held him in place. The pain in Seonghwa’s stance, in his eyes, in his body, it was an all too familiar pain that Yeosang had felt—still felt on many days—and he just couldn’t leave it alone.

With a slight tremble in his voice—whenever he got too close to caring—he asked, “What is hurting you?”

Seonghwa looked at him, his eyes filled with that unwavering annoyance he always wore when Yeosang was present, but something about Yeosang’s honesty must have moved him for the annoyance disappeared, as if a strong wind had blown through the room. The older Shadowhunter shifted in his position, crossing his arms, not bothered that he spilled a little bit of his drink. 

“I—” He hesitated, his eyes dancing in the many lights of the mansion, little stars reflecting in them. “I fought with my father,” he confessed.

Yeosang didn’t know what to say, not because he was surprised, but because he had been too young when his parents had passed away to get into meaningful arguments with them. There was no advice for him to give to Seonghwa.

“I am sorry,” was all he could come up with. He supposed it was what most people would say.

“Are you really? Do you really feel sorry, Yeosang?” Seonghwa inquired.

The question as well as the mention of his own name caught him off guard and he stood still, the bodies around him felt as if they were moving too fast and too hectic, and then they vanished and it was just them. Just Seonghwa and Yeosang slowly getting stripped of all they had always put up their whole lives, especially in front of each other.

“I do,” he said, finding it to be the truth. “I am sorry that your father does not value you,” he said.

Seonghwa opened his mouth and closed it again. He frowned. He took another sip of the flute. “It is not about—It is not about him valuing me.” He struggled to find his words, trying to cover up the source of his pain.

“ _Seonghwa_ ,” Yeosang said. “It is clear your father does not appreciate you enough. Even if we have our… _differences_ , it is clear to see you are, in fact, a bright and strong Shadowhunter, and your father has never shown much appreciation for you. He does not seem to show appreciation for anyone. You should not let your father downgrade you.”

Seonghwa stayed silent, staring at Yeosang speechlessly—partly due to his boldness, partly due to the fact that those were probably the nicest words Yeosang had ever spoken to him. 

“I—I,” Seonghwa stuttered out. He swallowed and shifted his position again, less wary and more like he was comfortable, melting into Yeosang’s words. He swayed forward a little bit.

Yeosang slowly but surely was starting to feel his cheeks grow hot in embarrassment. Why had he spoken?

 _I should not have said that_ , he told himself, looking away from Seonghwa.

“Um, thank you?” Seonghwa squeaked out, full of doubt, like he wasn’t sure he should thank Yeosang or not.

Yeosang wasn’t sure himself.

When he looked up again, he was surprised to find Seonghwa looking at him. It was an electric gaze, stripped of all those walls and precautions he usually had put up in front of Yeosang. 

Right then it was just Seonghwa.

Yeosang had always been aware that the older Shadowhunter was handsome, it was a widely known fact, many gushed over him—not just for his look, but his fighting skills and his well spoken manners too.

It was a detail that Yeosang liked to ignore, he couldn’t tolerate Seonghwa and there was no way he would admit that he found him attractive. But during that moment it was hard to ignore, to pretend Seonghwa’s eyes weren’t a delightful shade of dark brown, or that his red lips weren’t interesting and alluring, or that his face looked as though Raziel personally had granted him a gift. It was hard to look past the reality that Seonghwa was as beautiful as an Angel—Yeosang knew, deep down, the implication of that thought.

He swallowed, swaying slightly on his feet. He felt a little more inebriated than he thought he was, or perhaps it was Seonghwa’s sudden change in approach. His lowered eyelashes and bright eyes had an affect of intoxication of their own and Yeosang was falling right into them.

The world dimmed when Seonghwa stepped forward, staring hotly at Yeosang, and then his eyes lowered. 

Yeosang had faced many dangers in his short life; many adrenaline filled moments, in which his heart had raced in his chest and his mind had gone numb, completely relying on his instincts. When his hands had gone clammy and a slight tremble had picked up in them.

He felt just like that when Seonghwa was standing impossibly close to him now, like he was facing danger, except it wasn’t quite the same. His heart was racing, but not like he was scared, his hands were shaking, but not due to battlefield anxiety. His mind was numb, but not because he needed to act on instinct. 

There was a new sensation that was encompassing him.

Something akin to a tickling, shaking feeling bloomed in the pit of his stomach, like a wild beast waking up and trying to escape. It made his lungs burn, he felt short of breath all of a sudden, and his heart was beating so fiercely he was sure he would throw up any moment now. 

On the battlefield, Yeosang felt empowered whenever fear took over, but now he felt like he had been hit by lightning and it had rendered him motionless. He could just stand there and watch helplessly as Seonghwa inched closer to him, his own eyes wide, like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

The fire in Yeosang grew whenever Seonghwa’s eyes flitted from his eyes to his lips, stopping on his lips longer and longer, as though he couldn’t help himself, as though he was drawn to them. Yeosang dared to look at Seonghwa’s own lips, which were parted and red as blood.

A thought crossed his mind then. A cursed, scary thought.

_What would it be like to kiss him?_

The thought pulled him out of his trance, shaking him violently, and he stepped away from Seonghwa, balling his hands into fists, letting his nails dig into the flesh of his palms to wake him up, to push away anything that had just occurred between the two Shadowhunters.

His mind was buzzing and screaming at him, a thousand needles pushed into his lower back. He needed a quiet place, he needed a comforting voice, he needed reassuring words. With panic cursing through his body, Yeosang searched blindly for Hongjoong.

When the young Nephilim had seeked him out, urgency in his eyes and tone, Hongjoong had believed that it was linked to Wallace Grant and the issue that plagued the Shadow World, but the way Yeosang was darting his eyes around and was making sure no one was with them in the small guest room, Hongjoong understood that this was a personal matter.

He felt oddly touched that the Nephilim was trusting him with it; they had met not that long ago and after all they were a Downworlder and a Shadowhunter, it wasn’t a likely friendship.

With a swift movement of his hand, Hongjoong locked the door and walked over to the fireplace, leaning against it. He cast a spell on the log resting in the fireplace and seconds later fire cackled alive. Yeosang didn’t flinch or look astonished by Hongjoong’s use of magic.

The Nephilim ran a shaky hand through his long, dark hair, messing it up even further. There was something painfully beautiful in Yeosang’s distressed and undone state, Hongjoong thought. The warlock waited patiently for the Nephilim to gather his thoughts. He was still leaning against the fireplace and holding his drink, but he hadn’t taken a sip since Yeosang had dragged him to the guest room with a crazed look in his eyes.

“So…” the Nephilim started, his hand playing with the ring around his neck unconsciously. He had only acquired his family ring two nights ago, but it already seemed to be a part of him, as if it never really was gone. “So you are—You have intimate relationships with men.” It was more of a statement than question.

Hongjoong let out a short laugh, surprised. He recomposed himself quickly when he saw the uncertainty in Yeosang’s eyes. The need to know what Hongjoong was because he was scared—scared of his own sexuality, the warlock realized. It wasn’t the first time Hongjoong had found himself in this predicament. Seoho once had been like Yeosang, about a century ago, close to the time he had become a vampire and Hongjoong had taken him under his roof.

“I do not just have intimate relationships with men,” he declared softly. “I fall in love with someone’s heart— _soul_ , if you will. I have loved people who claimed to be neither men nor women.”

“But you _do_ like men?” This one was more of a question than a statement. Yeosang’s eyes were wide and fearful.

“Indeed.”

“I-I,” Yeosang stuttered, very unlike the confident and cocky Nephilim he made himself appear to be. Then again, the matters of one’s heart were something even the most strongest looking individuals could crumble to. “I am afraid.”

“That is understandable,” Hongjoong said softly. He put his drink on the fireplace to approach Yeosang. He placed a hand on the mortal’s shoulder. “Fear regarding your heart’s matters is very common.” The words made Yeosang crumble. He was shaking like a leaf in an autumn’s storm. “But it does not mean there isn’t hope,” Hongjoong quickly added, knowing that the wrong words could cause a lot of pain and destruction later on. “Where you will encounter a lot of rejection and hardships, there is also a lot of beauty and a family that you will find—one you never even imagined was possible.”

“A family? Where?”

“I think you already have found a family,” Hongjoong said softly. “You have Mr Song and Mr Yeo. Irene. You might even have me, Yeosang. That is a lot more than others have.”

Yeosang clenched his hands, convulsing. He looked up at Hongjoong with a crazed look in his eyes. “I-I had this dream—Well it did start off as a dream and then became a nightmare. I am kissing a-a man and it’s—” he broke off, the words causing him great difficulty to speak out loud. “I am shunned by those I love. Casted aside for wrong behavior…”

“It is but a dream, Yeosang. Dreams are powerful, but they do not always represent the truth,” Hongjoong told him. “I do not think your friends would push you away. Irene wouldn’t do that to you. They all love you a great deal.” Yeosang looked up, his eyes fierce and drowned with unshed tears. To Hongjoong’s surprise, the Nephilim leaned forward to press his lips against his. It was sloppy and awkward, and most definitely not what either of them wanted, but Hongjoong indulged him and kissed Yeosang back for the briefest of moments, before he placed his hand on Yeosang’s chest to push him softly away. He smiled wistfully. “I do not think that this is what you truly want.”

“I apologize. I do not know what came over me,” he apologized, his cheeks pink and his eyes wide, the previous fear was gone.

“Do not apologize. You are going through a confusing and terrifying phase. I believe one day a man will love you in the way you most deserve it and you will love him back strongly. But that man is not me. I think we are meant to be friends—as unlikely as a friendship can be between a Downworlder and a Nephilim.”

Yeosang stared at him with a peculiar look. The tears were now rolling down his cheeks but they weren’t bitter or fearful tears anymore, there was something beautiful about them. He chuckled—what a freeing sound that was.

“Yes. We shall become friends.”

**~*~**

**New York, November 8th 1899**

The state of drunkenness wasn’t Seonghwa’s most favorite state to find himself in, but it was a powerful weapon against the loud screaming and tangle of thoughts in his mind; the all consuming pain that swallowed him whole, and held him in its tight grips. 

There had been a time in which Seonghwa would have never believed to fall on his knees for a few drops of poison to kill his mind, it always reminded him too much of a time of desperation, when his father had often walked down this path—when Jinhyuk’s own father had died of old age and an insane mind. It had all fallen into the hands of Seonghwa’s mother to mend Jinhyuk back to full health, and that year of Hell in the Park’s household had scarred Seonghwa for a long time, staying away from any liquor.

But he had grown up and he had begun to understand the power that this inebriated state held. 

Nothing could hurt him, nothing could get to him.

It wasn’t that late, when the group of Shadowhunters stumbled back into the Institute through the hidden tunnel. With his mind spinning and his whole body aching, the journey felt simultaneously like the longest and most dreadful trip as well as the shortest distance he had ever walked. Before he knew it, they were back in the tunnel by the Institute’s sewers, the narrow and dark pathway felt scary in his drunken state. For some reason, he was afraid he’d get lost.

Seonghwa clung to whomever it was that was walking right in front of him.

“I think I do speak for all of us when I say that Mr Park is _not_ allowed to ever consume liquor ever again,” complained Yeosang.

 _Oh_ , so it was Yeosang he was holding on to.

“I agree,” Yunho said. 

“I think it is kind of funny,” interjected Mina. “He is behaving like a lost kitten.”

“Probably the most truthful he has ever been too,” added Yunho.

“Stop—making fun of me,” Seonghwa said, his words slurred. It was difficult constructing a sentence that made sense. He tightened his grip on Yeosang’s coat.

“Stop that,” the younger protested, shaking his torso to get rid of Seonghwa’s uncoordinated hands. “This is ridiculous!”

“It is funny that he has chosen you to safely guide him back,” commented Jinsoul, snorting. “Who would have thought?”

“It hardly is funny! It is _vexing_.” But they ignored Yeosang’s complaints.

Soon enough, they reached the Institute’s basement and only when they were in the familiar hallways on the first floor, did Seonghwa let go of Yeosang, who inched away with a pinched expression on his face. Yunho grabbed Seonghwa’s shoulders, squeezing them.

“I better make sure he gets to his bedroom, and not someone else’s by accident,” Yunho said, nodding his head at the group of Shadowhunters.

“That is probably for the best,” Yeosang agreed thoughtfully. “You know, he is not so bad when he is not behaving like an arrogant schmuck,” he added quietly.

Seonghwa stared at him for a moment, and even in his drunken state, he could make out the high blush on Yeosang’s cheeks. In his hazed mind, he could distinctively make out a memory—or was it a dream—of having Yeosang close to him, their bodies nearly pressed together completely, warmth consuming Seonghwa and gentle hands holding him upright.

 _What is hurting you?_ Words spoken in a genuine tone, coming from a person Seonghwa least expected to be genuine. _You should not let your father downgrade you._ Words that had stuck to Seonghwa’s mind, and out of all the words Yeosang had spoken to him, that had stuck to his mind over the past years, these were the most prominent ones.

He would have never believed for his enemy to advocate for his well being, but then again Yeosang didn’t even know half the story.

Seonghwa stumbled over thin air, nearly falling to the ground.

“Oof,” Yunho grunted, attempting to hold him straight. “I believe this is our cue. Good night.”

When Yunho left Seonghwa standing in front of his chamber, leaving with a soft pat on his shoulder and a quiet ‘good night’ and ‘rest well’ muttered into the darkness of the corridor, Seonghwa felt strangely less inebriated. The liquor was starting to lose its effect and Seonghwa hoped he could get into bed before it was completely gone. He couldn’t afford staying up with tormenting thoughts roaming his head.

He opened the door of his bedroom, staggering over to his four post bed sluggishly, kicking off his shoes on the way and struggling to get rid of his coat.

“Son,” came Jinhyuk’s voice. It was strained, simmering with anger. Seonghwa nearly dropped his witchlight.

Seonghwa stopped in his movements, his body stilling, tensing like a bow’s string.

He slowly turned around to glance at the desk in his chamber, where his father was seated at, in the darkness. Jinhyuk must have brought his own witchlight because suddenly his figure lit up in a white-ish light, the shadows beneath his eyes prominent. His face was all angular, and somehow his eyes looked more sunken, less human and more— 

Seonghwa wasn’t sure. 

“I would not have believed that you could disappoint me any greater,” Jinhyuk said, a sigh escaping him.

“Father,” Seonghwa started, noticing just how slurred his own voice sounded. He winced. No other words followed because he didn’t know what there was for him to say.

“May I know where exactly you and your friends are coming from?” Seonghwa stayed silent. Usually he would have spilled out, he knew he should have, but his throat was tightening, closing up. “I see.”

“You said I had to befriend Mr Kang. I—I…” But he struggled to justify the night’s actions.

“I did say that,” Jinhyuk agreed, “but not for you to disobey my orders. Not for you to go to these lengths. How should I trust you?”

“ _Father_!” Seonghwa protested, the liquor in his stomach burned his throat. 

“Do you remember, Seonghwa, our saying? The Park’s saying? _Blood above all_ ,” he recited, twisting the ring on his finger, it glimmered in his witchlight, nearly blinding Seonghwa. The ring on his own ring finger felt so incredibly heavy then and Seonghwa wished he could take it off. “Is that still where your loyalty lies, son, in your blood?”

“Of course—I still am loyal to you, father.”

Jinhyuk stayed quiet, an impassive look on his face as he stared at his drunken son. His face was unreadable, but Seonghwa just knew Jinhyuk was feeling disappointed and angry.

“We shall see about that.” He stood up, walking up close to Seonghwa. 

They were the same height now, Seonghwa realized with startlement. His father had always seemed like a giant in his mind, tall and broad and undefeated. Jinhyuk reached out his free hand, gently like poison caressing Seonghwa’s cheek. He patted it three times in a degrading way.

“I really do hope you do not forget where your place is, Seonghwa.”

Never in his life had Seonghwa felt the urge to punch his father, but in that moment, as he balled his hands into fists and clenched them tightly, he felt seconds away from doing so. He knew it was mostly due to the poison coursing his veins, the alcohol making him a bad judge of what was correct and incorrect. He supposed that was why people often called alcohol Liquid Courage.

Jinhyuk glanced down at Seonghwa’s hands and chuckled, meanly. “Oh, I do hope that thought never crosses your mind again.” He left with that, and Seonghwa was alone, the walls of his chamber crashing down on him.


	7. Shadowhunter Academy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seonghwa eyed Yeosang curiously, wondering if perhaps that had been the starting point for their ongoing rivalry. Not that it mattered much, he supposed, over the years he had discovered how unpleasant Yeosang was. He was more than glad they weren’t close friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a little in between chapter, a glimpse into the past!

**Alicante, Idris, July 6th 1898**

There wasn’t an official celebration for young Shadowhunters when they were done with the Academy, for the attendance wasn’t a requirement and neither was there an obligatory period that they had to spend there, did they choose to do so. The celebration was more of a choice done by the young Shadowhunters that had attended the Academy to have a reason to sneak off and hold a get together. 

Seonghwa wasn’t very fond of it, he didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of being surrounded by inebriated Shadowhunters, everyone in the mood to celebrate when he wasn’t. But Yunho had insisted, and then Mina and Jinsoul had insisted, and Seonghwa hadn’t been able to say no—in retrospect he really should have said no, considering that Yeosang was going to attend said celebration.

It was a warm summer’s night and as nice as the summers in Spain could be, there was just something about Idris’s clear air that was incomparable to any other place on Earth. Seonghwa had spent the past half year in the Institute of Madrid, learning about their culture and aiding them during a major demon problem that had plagued the city. He had come back a little earlier than planned, missing his mother desperately, and had spent the past three weeks enjoying the quietude of their mansion in Idris. Yunho had come to visit him as well as Mina and Jinsoul, and Seonghwa had a scheduled trip to Korea in August to visit Yunho in the Institute of Seoul.

“I hope you do know that I do not appreciate you dragging me to this party,” Seonghwa commented, scrunching up his nose as they approached the mansion the celebration was being held at. It belonged to a young Shadowhunter whose parents were the heads of the Institute of Tehran. “You know what happened before I decided to leave the Academy.”

“I do know,” Yunho said. “But come on, it has been two years. You and Mr Kang surely can put this old grudge behind yourselves.”

Seonghwa scoffed. _Grudge_ , that was certainly one way to name it. 

Yeosang despised him, he had set Seonghwa’s belongings alight, earning himself immediate expulsion from the Academy. But it wasn’t as if Seonghwa was short on hate toward the younger Shadowhunter. It was a mutual dislike. Seonghwa wasn’t even entirely sure what grounds Yeosang based his hatred on, but it hadn’t taken Seonghwa that long to be on the same page.

“It is strange, considering that he desperately tried to be your friend when he first met you,” Jinsoul pointed out, laughing when Seonghwa sputtered in embarrassment.

“He was an annoying and bratty kid,” he tried to argue.

“‘Kid’,” repeated Mina. “You are hardly much older than him. A year, is it not?”

“It can make all the difference.”

“You are just bad at making new friends,” said Yunho, which earned him a little shove from Seonghwa.

“It matters little what his intentions were when we first met. He burned down my belongings, he is rude, and acts arrogantly with whomever he encounters,” Seonghwa began listing, getting heated and angry just speaking about Yeosang.

“Take a deep breath, or you die at young age,” advised him Mina, patting his shoulder with a grin. “This night shall be interesting.”

Seonghwa turned to face her, his shoulders sagging a bit as he felt scolded and ridiculed by his friends for despising Yeosang so passionately. He knew it probably was quite annoying to listen to. 

“I keep wondering how you and him are of the same blood,” he told her.

“We are only cousins,” she said. “And well… He hardly had it easy growing up,” she muttered, a dark look crossing her face.

Seonghwa bit his lower lip to refrain himself from feeling bad towards Yeosang. Many young Shadowhunters lost their parents at a young age due to an attack done by Downworlders, Yeosang wasn’t special in that department; it wasn’t an excuse to act haughtily and terribly, Seonghwa decided.

“Why do we not talk about something less miserable?” Yunho said, keeping his tone light as he tried to carry the conversation away from Yeosang and his past. “There surely has to be something—”

“I can see the house!” exclaimed Jinsoul, interrupting Yunho. 

She pointed at a big stone made mansion rising in the horizon. It was by the outskirts of Alicante, between thick and blooming trees. They had followed a pebble made path that snaked through the dispersed forest. Although it was night time, it wasn’t quite dark, their witchlights as well as the few lamps appearing every couple of meters alongside the path illuminated their surroundings. The mansion was three stories tall and wide with a lot of windows, as though their occupants couldn’t bear the idea of not being able to see the world outside.

“Do you think Zana will be angry that I am attending?” Yunho wondered, eyeing the mansion with wide eyes. It was a sight to see. “He hinted that I might not be welcomed, being the Consul’s son and all…” he trailed off, shrugging as he glanced at his friends.

“You are here to have fun, not play your role,” Jinsoul said. “I am sure he will not hunt you out. He is quite nice.”

“You find _everyone_ ‘quite nice’,” said Mina, bitterness underlying her tone.

“I cannot help liking people,” Jinsoul defended herself. “But you are my favorite, worry not.”

Mina smiled, ducking her head.

For a while now, Seonghwa had observed this dance they danced, especially Mina. It led him to wonder if perhaps there was more in between the two girls than just a close friendship. He certainly could detect adoration and love in Mina’s eyes, even if she tried to hide it. Relationships in between two women weren’t exactly prohibited by the Law, but they weren’t looked at kindly. All parents wanted their children to marry well and carry their lineage on. Seonghwa understood that, but he wouldn’t be surprised or demeaning if Mina and Jinsoul did end up sharing more than just a platonic bond.

When they stood in front of the entrance to Zana’s mansion, the sound of loud chatter and a live band filtered through the door. Yunho grabbed the knob and twisted it. It was crowded inside and much louder than one would have thought.

It didn’t take long before they scattered around the mansion, greeting acquaintances and making beeline for the servants that held silver trays with champagne flutes and wine goblets. It was Seonghwa’s first time attending one of Zana’s get togethers, but he had heard that the young Shadowhunter had a sharp affinity for excellent liquors—generally, that he was a great host.

Seonghwa was catching up with an old acquaintance—Wong Kahei—he had met during his time in Hong Kong years ago, when he spotted a mop of familiar messy, dark brown hair and brown eyes that gazed through the crowd with mirth and a little bit of havoc. Yeosang was dressed in a fine navy blue shirt and fitted gray slacks. Next to him stood his best friend and faithful companion, Mingi—his spectacles sat crookedly on his nose and his black hair was framing his face just as wildly as Yeosang’s did.

“Mr Park?” Kahei called out his name, cocking her head as he had zoned out. She turned around to glance at what he was looking at. “A friend of yours?” she inquired as Yeosang was striding toward them.

Seonghwa felt a rush of panic and despair fill him.

“I hardly can call him a friend,” he mumbled, his tone clipped. He pressed his lips together when the younger Shadowhunter stood right by them.

“Mr Park,” Yeosang acknowledged him briefly before he turned to face Kahei. He shot her a blinding grin. “Kang Yeosang, pleased to meet you.”

Kahei giggled. “Wong Kahei.”

“Do not let that pretty face of his deceive you, he is the Devil that walks among us Nephilim,” Seonghwa warned his friend, scoffing.

Kahei raised her eyebrows, appraising Yeosang.

Mingi soon appeared, too, holding two flutes of champagne. His cheeks were flushed.

“It took me a while to get these,” he rambled, handing one of the flutes to Yeosang. He still hadn’t acknowledged Seonghwa or Kahei. “I uh, bumped into Yunho—you know, the Consul’s son,” he breathed out, a bit dazed. 

Seonghwa suppressed a snort. Yunho wasn’t anything like his father and held little to no interest in Shadowhunter politics. He rather spent his time riding his horse through the city of Seoul or sitting in the library to read poetry as the sun moved along the sky—from dawn to dusk. 

Yeosang hummed. “I had the pleasure of encountering our dearest friend, Mr Park.”

Only then, did Mingi take notice of Seonghwa and Kahei. He moved his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, eyeing them briefly before he shot Yeosang a wary look.

“By the Angel,” he muttered under his breath. “I am begging you, _Yeosang_ , do not get us into trouble. It was already hard enough to get Zana to invite us after the stunt you pulled two years ago.”

Yeosang merely shrugged one shoulder, taking a huge sip of his goblet.

“What did happen two years ago?” asked Kahei. Although she had attended the Academy, she had left before Seonghwa or Yeosang had joined.

“He burned down my belongings,” Seonghwa answered at the same time as Yeosang said, Mr “Park got what he deserved.” The two boys glared at one another. “What I deserved?” Seonghwa echoed, sniffling offendedly. “I have never done anything to awaken your wrath, Mr Kang.”

Yeosang scoffed, finishing his wine before he grabbed Mingi’s drink. “Is that so? That is most amusing.”

“How so?”

Kahei must have realized that there was an unpleasant history in between the two Shadowhunters, the tension growing thick and uncuttable. She coughed, excusing herself. She stopped a few steps away, getting hold of Mingi to drag him along. Seonghwa grimaced; Mingi would have been the only thing stopping Yeosang from acting out—probably. Then again, he reasoned, Mingi had been present during Yeosang’s pettish and childish act two years ago. If he hadn’t been able to stop his friend then, he most likely would have not done so now.

“I find it _hilarious_ that you put up this innocent act,” Yeosang hissed, his eyes fierce and hostile. “You know very well why I did what I did.”

“I certainly do not.” 

Yeosang squinted his eyes, distrustful.

He took another sip out of the goblet of wine, downing the poison quickly, as though he was dying of dehydration. Seonghwa eyed him with displeasure, it remembered him of his own father and the way he had needed this same poison so desperately to kill the pain within him. He briefly wondered what it was that Yeosang was trying to kill.

“Are playing dumb or do you really not recall what happened when we met at the Academy?” he asked, his tone strangely blank and empty, his eyebrows pulled together into a confused frown.

Seonghwa thought back to the day Yeosang had joined the Shadowhunter Academy in May of 1893. It had been shortly after Bae Irene had been elected the new Head of the International Institute of New York—which had aggravated Seonghwa’s father a great deal—and to show that she believed and knew the Nephilim Law she had sent Yeosang as well as Mingi to attend the Academy.

Seonghwa hadn’t really hung out much with them or paid attention to the rumors circulating around the Academy about them and Irene—and her brother’s actions. He had heard enough of it from his father. He had known, though, that the other kids at the Academy hadn’t exactly been kind toward Yeosang or Mingi, and that they had begun to act with the same kind of dislike toward Hwanwoong, who had joined the Academy the same year as Seonghwa.

Seonghwa and Yeosang had been formally introduced during a class about the _parabatai_ bond. At that time it hadn’t been clear, yet, that Yunho and Mina would become _parabatai_. Seonghwa had thought that he and Yunho would become brothers of war and more, as it was the case for many childhood friends. 

(Nowadays, he didn’t feel all too betrayed anymore, but at the time, three years ago, he had felt as though someone had slapped him across the face when Yunho had announced he had chosen Mina to become his _parabatai_.)

Seonghwa remembered faintly that Yeosang had asked him if they’d want to become _parabatai_ and Seonghwa had been so taken aback by the offer, especially because he hadn’t been close to Yeosang at all, that he had wrinkled up his nose and had said that never in a million years he would consider him as a possible candidate for the bond.

Seonghwa eyed Yeosang curiously, wondering if perhaps that had been the starting point for their ongoing rivalry. Not that it mattered much, he supposed, over the years he had discovered how unpleasant Yeosang was. He was more than glad they weren’t close friends.

Yeosang must have recognized the flicker of acknowledgement in Seonghwa’s eyes for a terribly twisted smile appeared on his face.

“You remember then, Mr Park?” he asked, a strange sort of urgency in his voice, like he really needed Seonghwa to remember this particular event in their lives—the one that had caused the cut between them.

“I suppose I do, Mr Kang,” Seonghwa responded. 

He glanced around himself, startled by the crowd surrounding them. He had completely forgotten where he was—at Zana’s celebration. He had been too focused on his conversation with Yeosang. Something unpleasant twisted in the pit of his stomach. He hated himself for having spared Yeosang his undivided attention, it wasn’t the first time this had happened. As much as Seonghwa didn’t want to admit this, Yeosang had an alluring aura to him that demanded everyone’s attention on him. 

“But I would not take back what I said then,” he continued, fueled by the unpleasant feeling and the need to break out of this strange magnetic pull Yeosang had on him. “And I have heard you do not have a _parabatai_ , so I suppose I am not the only one to have thought that.”

Yeosang stared at him blankly, hurt flashing through his eyes before rage took over his delicate features. It had always staggered Seonghwa that Yeosang had such an angelic face, gentle eyes and an overall softness to his features, but then he opened his mouth and it ruined whatever gracefulness one might have seen at first. 

That contrast was especially strong in that moment. With the rage pouring out of his eyes and yet Yeosang still looked like an angel, a vengeful and furious one.

“You do not have a _parabatai_ either,” Yeosang retorted, his voice low. He was trembling, as though he was holding himself back from swinging his fist at Seonghwa.

Seonghwa shrugged. “It was my choice. I am good on my own.” It was a lie, but Yeosang didn’t need to know that. “What about you though? You seemed desperate to become my _parabatai_.”

Seonghwa should have seen it coming, but he was surprised when Yeosang’s fist collided with his jaw. The punch was strong; sharp pain shot from his jaw through his whole face. He stumbled back, his hand coming up to brush his fingertips against the bruise that was blooming. At first he didn’t feel anything—too numb and shocked—but as soon as he put a little pressure on it he felt the pain. 

“You are vile,” Yeosang spat out, glowering at Seonghwa. “You act honorable, but you are far from it.”

“Oh, _please_ ,” Seonghwa chuckled despicably, “you hardly are any better than I am. And what do _you_ know about honor?”

Before a brawl could bloom between the two Shadowhunters, a pair of arms came around Seonghwa’s torso, dragging him back. He could see that Mingi was holding onto Yeosang, clutching his friend’s shoulder tightly, a warning look on his face as he whispered something into Yeosang’s ear.

“What do you think you are doing, Seonghwa?” Yunho hissed, disappointment lacing his voice. “Why would you provoke him?”

The crowd of young Shadowhunters stared at Seonghwa with open mouths and shocked expressions—as though he had grown a second head. Thankfully, Yunho was dragging him into an empty room and soon the music and clamor ceased. 

A headache was starting to form behind Seonghwa’s eyelids. He let out an aggravated sigh. “Why are you assuming that I provoked him?” 

“What other reason would Mr Kang have to punch you? He might be crazy, but he would not just hit you for no reason,” Yunho pointed out, checking the bruise on Seonghwa’s jaw. 

Mina and Jinsoul burst through the door, their eyes wide. The former was still holding a flute of champagne. She offered it to Seonghwa.

“Zana said we should leave,” said Jinsoul, a little breathless.

“He also kicked out my cousin and Mr Song,” Mina continued. A beat of silence. “What happened?” she inquired, curiously looking at Seonghwa.

He scoffed. “What do you think? Your cousin was being most vexing.”

“I overheard part of your conversation,” Yunho started, “and you were not exactly behaving greatly either.”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes but didn’t further try to defend himself or his actions. There was no point anyway.

“I suppose it was agreeable while it lasted,” Jinsoul said, pouting. 

“There are plenty of other—official—balls we shall attend,” Mina assured her, patting her shoulder in solidarity. “Hopefully, both Seonghwa and my cousin will have grown some sense until then.”


	8. Demonic Humans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something strange occurred then: Seonghwa _smiled_ at Yeosang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for this chapter: mention of minor character's death!
> 
> also yunho's pov in this one ^^

**New York, November 10th 1899**

With Hongjoong’s help, Yeosang was dressed in a highly fashionable way, his Shadowhunter runes hidden with a spell as was his Angel blood. Instead, he was presenting as a mundane human that had fallen into the Shadow World a few decades ago, clinging to spells and potions to keep him as immortal as possible. Hongjoong had made sure to give him a believable background story, Mingi and Yunho suggesting some details here and there, but most of the work had been by the warlock.

Yeosang had noticed, during their meetings for this mission, that Yunho and Mingi had been distracted. They got along extremely well, which didn’t exactly bother Yeosang, but sometimes it seemed as if Mingi’s entire focus fell on Yunho, forgetting his surroundings. 

It was… odd. 

It made Yeosang think back to the warlock’s birthday celebration, when he had nearly kissed Seonghwa; when he had confessed to Hongjoong about his attraction towards men. Since then, he had miraculously been able to make a little bit of peace with it, the warlock’s comforting words swimming through his head. What a difference that had made!

Wallace Grant’s apartment was on the second floor of a tall building, busy streets surrounding it. As Yeosang wasn’t using any of his runes, he had to maneuver through the crowds, turning down more than one merchant offering him products. He arrived at Mr Grant’s apartment in a fairly annoyed mood, but he recomposed himself when a vampire approached him, leading him towards the apartment.

The apartment wasn’t as big as Yeosang had expected, which probably meant this wasn’t Mr Grant’s main meeting spot. For a moment, Yeosang feared he was walking into a trap, but that couldn’t be; could it?

Alexander Keaton welcomed him instead of Wallace Grant, a funny hat on top of his head. He gave Yeosang a blinding smile, his hand resting on Yeosang’s lower back. He guided him to the living room, where four other men were seated as well as a young woman. The woman had a piercing stare, as if she was calculating how much of a threat Yeosang was. She looked strangely familiar. It didn’t take long for Yeosang to realize she was a vampire.

“I hope it wasn’t difficult finding your way, Jinhyuk,” said Mr Keaton, showing Yeosang to his seat.

“It was not.” He inclined his head. “Thank you.” He glanced around the table, noticing that Wallace Grant was not in between the men staring blankly back at him. “Where is Mr Grant?” he asked, raising his eyebrows curiously.

Mr Keaton exchanged a look with the vampire woman before he settled his gaze on Yeosang, it was cold around the edges. “He had some urgent matters to attend. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

Yeosang faked a smile. “Not at all, Alexander.”

“Then, shall we begin this meeting?” Mr Keaton did not wait for an answer, launching into a detailed explanation about the outcome of their most recent experiments. Yeosang tried his best to appear amazed and interesting, pushing his true feelings down.

It was late in the afternoon when Yeosang arrived back at the International Institute of New York. One of the Conta twins was already awaiting him, taking the reins out of Yeosang’s hands to take the horse to its stable, but before Yeosang could wander up the stairs to the entrance, the Italian man grabbed Yeosang’s forearm tightly, a troubled look crossing his face.

“The search party that was sent out has returned a little before you arrived,” he said. “Two of them did not make it back alive.” 

Yeosang shuddered, nodding his head. It was a fair warning for the Institute would be in shambles. He hoped this time a Rite of Mourning would be held, they had endured too many losses in such a small window for it to be ignored and brushed under the carpet. They deserved to say goodbye to their fellow warriors, their friends and family. Yeosang might not have truly known anyone that had gone on the search party, but he knew how quick and merciless Death worked.

He braced himself as he crossed the big doors at the entrance. The corridors were eerily silent, but as he passed by the dinner hall he could identify a small group of Shadowhunters gathered around two bodies lying motionless on the ground. He stopped in his steps, peering into the hall. He made out Jinsoul in between the mourning Shadowhunters, next to her was her older sister, Soojung. Their faces were blanch and torn with sadness. On the ground, Yeosang could make out Jessica’s corpse. His heart sunk; he hadn’t exactly been close to her, but the few times they had talked she had been rather sweet and caring.

And the truth was, Yeosang had taken a liking towards Jinsoul—even if she was a good friend of Seonghwa. He hadn’t minded growing closer to her, it pained him to see her so broken. His cousin stood near Jinsoul, softly rubbing her shoulder as she struggled to keep her own tears from falling.

Yeosang walked away, not wanting to pry on such a private and emotional scene any longer. 

As he walked to his personal chamber, he bumped into Yunho and Seonghwa rushing downstairs. They were dressed in their training gear, a thin layer of sweat covering their skin—in the witchlight it looked all glistering and beautiful.

Yeosang averted his gaze quickly, ducking his head.

“Oh, you have returned?” Yunho breathed out, stopping to regard him curiously. “How did it go?”

“It was ghastly! It made me sick to the stomach to discover the kind of experiments they hold.” He hesitated. “I believe they knew I was a Shadowhunter, despite Hongjoong’s concealing magic. The meeting ended rather abruptly.”

Seonghwa parted his lips in surprise. “And they let you walk out— _alive_?”

“It appears so,” he muttered, shrugging. “I need to write down the details of the meeting before I forget,” he excused himself, taking the last steps of the staircase. He heard Seonghwa and Yunho’s hushed voices fade out behind him as they hurried to the dinner hall.

Yeosang stood in the corridor, his heart sinking a little as he thought of the news that would hit them, especially Yunho. A part of him wanted to follow them and help them with the grief they were about to confront. But Yeosang knew he wasn’t the best company in those situations. With a soft shake of his head, he hurried to his chamber, not wanting to hear the cries and the mourning, there would be enough of that later, when the whole Institute learned of these tragic and heart shattering news.

He sat down in front of his desk, pulling out a notebook and quill, and began writing down the details of the meeting, always coming back to the vampire woman, who seemed to hold a great importance to them all, most likely standing above them. Maybe even standing above Wallace Grant, as Yeosang recalled the mundane had gotten into the Shadow World through the help of a vampire.

They had called her the Night’s Queen, foregoing her real name, which was frustrating, but Yeosang figured with a little help of Hongjoong and Seoho her real identity would not be that hard to reveal.

A soft knock interrupted Yeosang. He looked up.

“Come in,” he called out, closing his notebook quickly and hiding it underneath some scattered papers.

In came Hwanwoong, followed by Mingi. They looked tired and troubled, undoubtedly they had heard of the passings.

“Irene called everyone to the dinner hall,” Hwanwoong spoke. Yeosang nodded his head. He got up and joined his friends. “How did the meeting go?”

“I will report later, once we get ahold of Irene. That way I do not have to repeat myself unnecessarily.”

Hwanwoong nodded his head, sensing his frustration immediately. “I take it could have gone better.”

Yeosang hummed, brushing a loose strand of his long hair aside. “Wallie was not even present.”

“That is a shame.”

“Thankfully, it was not completely a waste.”

“That is good to hear. This cannot carry on any longer,” said Mingi, a concerned look crossing his face. “We cannot keep losing our people like this.”

“I agree.”

“I saw Yunho earlier; he looked so broken,” Mingi added, quietly, his lips pulled down in worry. 

Because Yeosang could not hold his curiosity back any longer, he asked, maybe a little too intrusively and snappishly, “What is the understanding between you two?”

“W-What?” Mingi stuttered, his eyes widening and his steps slowing down. He shot Hwanwoong a terrified look.

“You seem to have taken quite a liking towards him—Yunho,” Yeosang pointed out, realizing that this discovery, this conversation, was one Mingi had already had with Hwanwoong, but not with him. It hurt. “And he appears to enjoy your company just as much.”

Mingi stayed quiet for a short while, pushing his spectacles up his nose. “You are correct in that observation,” was all he ended up saying.

They reached the hall, all the Shadowhunters living in the Institute were already reunited. Some looked torn and slashed, with hardened expressions on their faces as they tried not to cry, others with tear stained cheeks and red eyes. It was a harrowing sight, similar to that a few weeks ago, when they had endured their first losses. Somehow it was much worse though.

Yeosang understood it was the collective loss of hope, the realization that death was hovering over them and there was no end in sight for its continuous stay.

Irene stood by the back of the room, together with Jinhyuk and a Shadowhunter from the Institute of Buenos Aires. They looked tired and sleep deprived, the witchlight casting long shadows under their eyes and cheeks. 

Yeosang searched the dinner hall for Yunho, spotting him in the front, where the corpses still lay. Seonghwa stood silently next to him. He looked like a phantom: haunting and ethereal. Staring at him wasn’t good for Yeosang, his heart shrunk a few sizes and then grew, something painful and strange unfolding in his chest.

He yearned to reach out and— _What?_ He wondered to himself. _And what?_

Once everyone was present, Irene stepped forward, her hands folded behind her back. She began speaking with a monotone yet powerful voice, reaching every corner of the dinner hall, every Nephilim’s heart. 

“A Rite of Mourning will be held tonight, when the sun falls,” were her closing words, giving a short and curt nod. Murmurs rose around them, as most Shadowhunters filtered out of the big room. A few stayed, to accompany their close ones in the mourning or mourn for themselves before the funeral later. Irene walked over to them. “Boys,” she said gravely. She shot Yeosang a scrutinizing look. “I see you have returned. Did you acquire any valuable information?”

Yeosang grimaced guiltily. “Scarcely,” he settled for saying. “Meet me in my chamber. I shall tell you all I know.”

Irene nodded her head. “I need to discuss some matters first, but I will be there before the Rite of Mourning.”

The patio behind the International Institute of New York had been set up for the Rite of Mourning. The Conta twins had set up the pyre, where the bodies of those that had passed away on the battlefield were lying on now. They were dressed in white, their seraph blades clutched in their dead hands, over their hearts, and their eyes bound with white silk. 

Night was falling over them, the stars bright in the sky, and an icy wind was blowing through the city. Yunho already felt cold, he had lost his dear cousin that day. He shivered when Seongwha’s uncle—Brother Akoni—approached the pyre together with Irene and Jinhyuk. The Shadowhunters residing in the Institute had gathered around the pyre, a sea of white. 

Brother Akoni began the ceremony, his words resonating in everyone’s minds. Yunho only caught half of it, his arms were around Jinsoul’s frame, hugging her tightly as she stared with empty and unseeing eyes at the fire that was consuming the dead Shadowhunters.

 _Pulvis et umbra sumus_ , were Brother Akoni’s last words. 

_We are dust and shadows._

From across the pyre, Yunho spotted Yeosang, Mingi, and Hwanwoong. Mingi stood out between the white mourning clothes, his red hair was as bright as blood that had been shed, his spectacles reflecting the flames. Mingi must have sensed Yunho’s eyes on him for he looked up, his gaze meeting Yunho’s. He offered a comforting, small smile, then he ducked his head again, staring at the pyre.

“Tomorrow will be another day,” said Irene, her voice was trembling but it was powerful in the sacred silence. “For today, rest your bodies and your minds. Mourn your losses. This is not the end.”

The crowd began to thin out, the Shadowhunters walking towards the Institute with heavy steps and hearts, their white clothes dimming once they left the blazing pyre. Jinsoul stayed there together with her sister and Mina.

“I’ll catch up with you,” she muttered to Yunho. He nodded his head, squeezing her shoulder once before he joined Seonghwa and the rest of Shadowhunters.

They were only steps away from the main entrance to the Institute when a howling sound pierced through the night sky. Yunho flinched, too preoccupied still with the passage of his cousin, but he reacted quickly, drawing out his seraph blade.

“ _Uriel_ ,” he whispered, the blade was bright in the darkness. The Shadowhunters around him were all quick to follow, a sea of glowing blades.

From the Institute’s gates, a woman came speeding at them, a cloud of black smoke emitting from her as if she was burning inside out. She was yelling and twisting her limbs in a strange and impossible way. There was no way she wasn’t in pain.

“What, in the Angel—?” Yunho heard Yeosang’s deep voice mutter. He was surging forward, his blade in front of his face. He looked dangerous, his eyes shining intensely, his birthmark standing out starkly. 

The demonic woman didn’t seem to mind that multiple Shadowhunters were circling her, all with their weapons drawn out. 

Seonghwa was by Yunho’s side, but he suddenly jumped forward when the woman lunged herself at Yeosang, her arms moving crazily and nothing like a human. She reached his cheeks, scratching at them wildly. Seonghwa pushed her hard, making her fall onto the floor. He had his face turned towards Yeosang, his lips moving to ask something that Yunho couldn’t catch.

Yeosang just nodded his head, brushing past Seonghwa to leap onto the woman, but to the surprise of everyone the woman suddenly burst into flames, an explosion following. Yeosang and Seonghwa flew through the air, landing on their backs, each of them letting out pain filled groans.

Yunho hadn’t been present when that demonic human had entered the Institute during the International Feast, but he imagined this was exactly what had happened—at least that was how Seonghwa had described it. 

A tense silence fell over them, no one moved for a few seconds, too stunned. Yunho was the first to take a step forward, he rushed over to Seonghwa and Yeosang, checking if they were gravely harmed.

“ _Hyung_ ,” he called out, kneeling next to Seonghwa. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Seonghwa huffed out, sitting up. He grabbed his stele to draw an _Iratze_ on his forearm. He glanced at Yeosang, who was in a similar position, but wasn’t doing anything to heal himself. He was staring at the bloody remnants of the woman. She hadn’t completely disintegrated, the outline of her body was still intact.

“That was gruesome,” Yeosang mumbled, leaning forward to check out her corpse, but Seonghwa held him back, grabbing Yeosang’s wrist.

“You should heal yourself first,” he said.

Yeosang tried to shrug him off, but when Seonghwa wasn’t letting go, he returned his look. Yunho sensed a cackling electricity unfolding between the two Shadowhunters and he unconsciously wondered if, pushing past that façade, there could be space for a deeper bond to grow.

Irene was quick to appear at the scene, followed by Jinhyuk.

“Oh, bother,” she whispered, eyeing the woman with a terrified look. Jinhyuk looked as impassive as always, but Yunho detected a strange glint in his eyes—almost pride. But that would be insane. “I will immediately call for Hongjoong. He might be able to detect any lingering magic.” She spun around and rushed into the Institute.

Jinhyuk stayed for a second longer, looking down at his son. He wrinkled his nose and left. Yunho clenched and unclenched his hands, the urge to leap forward and punch Jinhyuk consuming him not for the first time.

“Yeosang!” Mingi’s deep and worried voice came. He was jogging over to them, his seraph blade still in hand. Hwanwoong close on his heels. “Are you hurt?”

“I am doing great,” Yeosang answered, but there was a deep wound on his arm and his cheeks were full of scratch marks.

“Well, you certainly do not look great,” Mingi pointed out, quickly getting his stele to draw the Healing rune on Yeosang. This time he allowed it.

“What do you think the point of this was?” Seonghwa wondered out loud, staring at the corpse of the demonic woman, which was being carried into the Institute by the Conta twins. 

“I have reasons to believe it was merely an experiment, much like the first one that crossed the Institute,” Yeosang responded thoughtfully. “They said something—at the meeting this morning—about having an improved weapon they needed to test out.”

“And you did not think of mentioning it earlier?!” Seonghwa snapped at him.

Yeosang glowered at him. “How was I supposed to know they would strike tonight? How was I meant to know that _this_ was their weapon?” He waved his hand in the direction of the bloody mess on the ground.

Seonghwa held his gaze for a few seconds before he broke it, looking down at his lap. He shook his head, his black hair framing his face messily. “I apologize.”

Yeosang squinted his eyes, but for once he kept his mouth shut.

“We should head inside,” Hwanwoong spoke up for the first time. “Wait for Mr Kim’s arrival.”

Their little group made their way over to the Institute, it was hauntingly empty and quiet now, all Shadowhunters vanished into their respective chambers. With a silent agreement they walked to the practice room, it was far too late but none of them would be able to sleep and channeling that pent up stress and worry into an energetic practice seemed like the right choice. 

Still in their mourning clothes, they dispersed in the room. Yeosang switched his seraph blade for a bow and arrow, while Yunho went for the row of polished daggers. Hwanwoong and Mingi stood facing one another, their blades pointed towards each other. They paced around, waiting for the other to strike first.

Yunho watched them for a while, from the sidelines. There was something so striking about watching Mingi fight, the flawlessness of his movements; the blade, glistening in the multiple witchlights around the room, an extension of his arm. There was this concentrated look on his face, different from the usual softness presented in his eyes. His fiery red hair moved wildly, a mesmerizing sight.

Yunho always had found himself draw to Mingi, from when they first had met in Alicante when they were eight and Mingi had had to sit through the horrible trial regarding his parents’ murder. Back then, he had been even shyer, quiet and withdrawn—understandably so. Yunho liked to watch Mingi when he hung out with Hwanwoong and Yeosang, he was different with them, less of that serious young man. He was so playful with them, laughing unabashedly and openly. 

Throughout the years Yunho had caught more and more glimpses of _that_ Mingi as their relationship had progressed, and now Mingi almost felt as comfortable with Yunho as he did with his friends. It was a blessing and a privilege to witness that.

“Are you going to _just_ stand around?” Seonghwa asked in a quiet tone, softly shouldering Yunho. He had a playful smile on his lips, it was a bit forced given the circumstances; but they were all trying.

“Quiet, you,” Yunho hissed, shaking himself out of his stunned state, and faced the targets. He drew his arm back, breathed in deeply, counted to three, and threw his first knife. It landed perfectly in the middle. 

He glanced at Seonghwa, raising his eyebrows challengingly.

Seonghwa shrugged. “My apologies. Carry on ogling Mr Song.”

“I was not—” Yunho started to defend himself but deflated rather quickly. There was no point in denying it, especially not in front of Seonghwa, who just _knew_.

It never had been a grand conversation between them. One day, Seonghwa had stumbled in when Yunho had been kissing another boy; later, Seonghwa had asked how it had felt to kiss a boy and Yunho had responded that it had felt right. Half a year after that, Yunho had caught Seonghwa kissing another boy. A day later, they had snuck out with some whisky, toasting to it, and found comfort in the fact that they both had a liking to men’s company.

“Do you think there is a chance he might like me back?” Yunho asked then, quietly so they weren’t overheard. He figured it probably wasn’t the best place to speak of this, but Mingi and Hwanwoong were busy training with one another while Yeosang was shooting practice arrows at the target near Yunho’s knife target.

Seonghwa hummed, glancing at Mingi. “Perhaps,” he replied. “He does seem to be rather fond of you.”

This made Yunho smile. He had noticed, of course, the flustered state Mingi fell into whenever he was around, but he had always pushed that away as Yunho being the Consul’s son. Maybe Seonghwa was right, though, and Mingi _really_ _was_ fond of him.

“What about you?” Yunho asked him, searching his best friend’s face.

“What about me?” Seonghwa repeated it, an infuriatingly blank look on his face.

“Your feud with Yeosang is getting old…” Yunho pointed out, shrugging lightly. “All that tension can only build up for two outcomes.”

Seonghwa was squinting at him, nibbling on his lower lip. He looked at Yeosang briefly. “What two outcomes?”

“One of you murders the other or…” He smiled. “Or it ends in a passionate kiss.”

Seonghwa shoved his shoulder. “Neither of those will happen,” he hissed petulantly, but Yunho could detect that faint blush on his cheeks. _Then it will be the latter_ , he thought to himself. “Come on. Less talking nonsense, more practicing,” Seonghwa said then.

Half an hour later, Mina joined them, explaining she had left Jinsoul to rest but couldn’t do so herself. Yunho offered strengthening their _parabatai_ bond, to which Mina agreed gratefully. They took positions similarly to Hwanwoong and Mingi.

Seonghwa ended up practicing alone, throwing knives as he stood closely to Yeosang, more often than not observing the archer, quickly looking away when Yeosang noticed someone’s eyes on him.

It casted an amused smile on Yunho’s lips.

It was nearing midnight when Irene called for them to her study, discreetly through a note that she slipped below the practice door. They immediately put their weapons back to their slots and refreshed themselves. When they huddled into her study, they came face to face with Hongjoong. The warlock was sitting in one of the seats by the fireplace, holding a drink in one hand while the other played with one of the rings on his fingers. He had a pensive look on his face, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pulled into a thin line.

When he grew aware of their company, he sat up straight, offering an amiable smile.

“Ah, the young Nephilim,” he noted, waiting for them to take place near him. Irene was standing by the fireplace, her face pulled into a grimace. “I wish these were happier circumstances to see one another. I am deeply sorry for your loss, Mr Jung.”

“Much appreciated.” Yunho bowed his head. 

Once they were all seated, Irene addressed them. “After going over Yeosang’s notes from the meeting at Mr Grant’s—which he disappointingly did not attend—and reread older files regarding this case, as well as talking with Hongjoong and his vampire friend, Lee Seoho, I have reasons to believe that a powerful vampire has her hands deep in this. Mr Lee reported an unusual and worrisome spike in vampires roaming New York City recently—against the Accords it appears.” She pressed her lips together, undoubtedly thinking of her brother. “Those vampires you fought some weeks back, was there anything remotely unusual about them?” she asked Yeosang, Mingi, and Hwanwoong.

Yeosang frowned, humming thoughtfully. But it was Mingi that spoke. “They seemed inexperienced. Definitely turned only recently. We noticed that they travelled as a pack, similar to werewolves, which is unusual for new vampires as they tend to roam alone before they find a den…”

“They were not anything like the vampires we have encountered recently—the abominations,” Hwanwoong further explained. “They were regular vampires.”

Irene took this into consideration, nodding her head. “When you make an army,” she suddenly spoke up, “you want to send out your weakest and most unskilled ones first, as a sacrifice, to give your enemies a fake sense of security.”

“You mean those vampires we fought were a decoy?” Yeosang inquired.

Hongjoong nodded his head. “Most likely.”

Yeosang eyed him peculiarly. “What about that woman. The Night’s Queen?”

“Seoho happens to be part of her den,” Hongjoong revealed slowly. Irene’s gasp indicated that he had not revealed this during their private talk. “He was not aware of her connections to Mr Grant,” he clarified quickly, smoothing down some inexistent wrinkles on his shirt as he ignored the Shadowhunters’s accusing eyes on him. “It is not easy leaving a den. He will be staying, for now, as a spy,” he continued. “I believe her identity is crucial. If we want to stop Mr Grant, we have to take out his most powerful associates. The Night’s Queen seems to sit on the throne—as her name indicates.”

His eyes flickered over to Irene, a guilty look shooting through them.

“Is there anything else you were hiding from us?” Seonghwa asked then, his tone harsh.

Hongjoong looked at him tiredly. “No.”

“What about the demonic woman? Are there any traces of magic on her?” Seonghwa further pushed.

Hongjoong nodded his head. “Yes. Not to anyone’s surprise, Alexander Keaton performed a very dark and unusual binding spell. A blood spell.”

“A blood spell?” Yunho echoed, not liking the sound of that.

Hongjoong nodded. “I have not heard of them before. It is out of my expertise. But it appears that Mr Grant is trying to bind different Shadow World beings together through their blood.”

“Those files we found, they were not fake? They were not a madman’s tale into insanity?” Hwanwoong wondered, his facing blanching.

“I am afraid not,” Hongjoong told him. “I do not know to what lengths this binding spell could go. I will have to consult with other warlocks and do some reading.” He got up from the seat, placing his now empty glass on Irene’s desk. He shot them all a tired smile—it was unusual to see a warlock so tired, unless they had used copious amounts of their magic—and left the study.

A nearly unbearable silence spread over them, before Irene snapped out of it, urging the young Shadowhunters to leave for their respective chambers and catch up on some well deserved and needed sleep.

“Do you think Mr Kim might be involved with Mr Grant? That there is a chance he lied to us this whole time?” Hwanwoong asked no one in particular.

“No,” said Seonghwa to everyone’s surprise. Yeosang looked at him quizzically, but there was a phantom of a smile curling his lips, one Yunho was sure Yeosang himself wasn’t even aware of. “I doubt he works with Mr Grant. He has been a great help so far. I—” He hesitated, glancing at Yeosang briefly. “I trust him.”

“You do?” Yunho found himself questioning. 

It was surprising. Not just that he was trusting a Downworlder, but _Hongjoong_ , towards whom he had not held back to show his dislike. This sudden admission coming from Seonghwa, it was almost Earth shattering; _the world is going to stand upside down_ , Yunho mused. 

Seonghwa nodded his head. “I do.”

“Why?” Yeosang wondered, frowning. 

And Yunho could see it: Yeosang’s want and _need_ to desperately trust Seonghwa, but it was still so distrustful and weak due to their ongoing rivalry throughout the years. Yunho wondered if this was a new development or if Yeosang had always (secretly) wanted to find a reason to trust Seonghwa. He thought back to when they had attended the Shadowhunter Academy and little, young Yeosang had been trailing after Seonghwa as though his feet couldn’t walk elsewhere. Maybe that admiration had never quite left.

Seonghwa met Yeosang’s questioning gaze and held it for a few seconds. Something strange occurred then: Seonghwa _smiled_ at Yeosang. The latter was just as taken aback as Yunho for he looked away quickly, his eyelashes fluttering as he blinked multiple times, a weak blush growing on his cheeks.

“I had time to think,” Seonghwa replied then. “It was unfair of me to judge him.” He took in a deep breath, pressed his lips together, and mumbled, “Perhaps my father is wrong.”

Yunho couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He almost began to cry.

Yeosang hummed. “Perhaps he is,” he agreed.

Mina still looked tired, her eyes bloodshot, but she too had an amused and slightly stunned smile on her face, exchanging a meaningful glance with Yunho. Mingi was openly gaping at Yeosang, then turned to Hwanwoong.

“Are you _hearing_ this?” he hissed in a whisper, but was heard by everyone nonetheless.

“I am,” Hwanwoong noted, huffing out a low laugh. “If we wake up to a world upside down, I shall blame you two.”

Yeosang began protesting, blushing a deep red now. “I can be civil! It is not _that_ strange for me to—”

“Oh, but it is, Yeo,” Mingi interrupted him. “Because this is Park Seonghwa.”

“Do not talk about me as if I am not here,” Seonghwa grumbled out, equally as red as Yeosang. Before anyone could say anything to mock them further, he continued, “We really should rest.”

Yeosang held his chin high, looking down at his friends—or tried to, it wasn’t so easy with Yunho and Mingi. “For once I agree with you.”

**~*~**

In front of Wallace Grant a man kneeled despairingly. His pride didn’t allow him to shed tears of horror, but the fear was ever present in his brown eyes. He was nearly begging.

“You failed me,” said Wallace impassively. “I told you to contain them and you didn’t. You know what the price is for that.”

“No, please—Mr Grant, I promise you I will try again!” the man said, inching forward on his knees. It was ungraceful and pitiful, but Wallace wasn’t a man that had spare pity to grant to those that compromised his mission. He felt a rush of power at making someone that believed himself to be so powerful and strong to cover in fear.

Wallace jerked his chin at the man, ordering the two demon mutations by his sides to seize the coward up. They were his greatest creations—the only ones that had worked in the way he had dreamed—and he hadn’t unleashed them onto the world yet. Only Alexander Keaton and the Night’s Queen knew of their existence, and now the man on the floor.

Wallace got a little tube out of his jacket’s pocket, the red blood in it flashing brightly in the room’s lighting.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked. The man stayed quiet, struggling against the strong grip of the demon mutations. “Tis blood from my worst failure. I cannot stand failures, you see, which is why I shall transform it into success.” The man’s eyes widened when Wallace got a syringe from a nearby table and unscrewed the vial. “Blood is a funny little thing, _innit_? It binds you to your family, it makes us all equal in the eyes of Death… Your kind seems to believe gifted blood runs through your veins though. I shall be the one to put an end to you lot.” He grinned, drawing out the blood from the vial as he walked up to the man on the floor. “This is the blood of all Downworlders combined—and a mundane’s. With the help of Mr Keaton’s magic it could become a terrible sickness to your kind. You are far too arrogant to be walking Earth.”

The man shook violently and thrashed against the demon mutations holding him in place, but it was to no use. Wallace wore a sick and twisted smile when he introduced the syringe into the man’s neck. The cursed blood drained out quickly until the victim was convulsing, coughing and groaning in pain.

“What—have you—done?” the man whispered in a hoarse voice, his words barely intelligible. 

“I have created a curse to end your kind, _Nephilim_ ,” Wallace spat out.


	9. The Banned Nephilim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is there anything I can do?”
> 
> San sayed quiet, his eyelashes fluttering close as he harshly breathed in and out. Wooyoung could see that he was in pain.
> 
> “No,” San croaked out.

**Seoul, October 20th 2019**

Jongho would call him a creep, Hyejoo would probably laugh at him, but thankfully neither of them were present right now, so Wooyoung could spy on San in peace. 

Choi San was in the training room, dressed in leather pants and a sleeveless, black shirt—again with a print on top that Wooyoung could not understand the meaning of. He was wielding two seraph blades, stepping around the room with steady and silent steps, as though he was dancing. The blades were like an extension of his arms, piercing through the air whenever he moved them with a loud _swoosh_ that sent shivers down Wooyoung’s spine. 

The way he fought was mesmerizing. 

Wooyoung took his time in studying San: from his lithe body, his muscular arms standing out, to his angular face with the sharp features. His beauty was unparalleled, unlike anything Wooyoung had ever seen. It was alluring and dangerous; so, so dangerous as his heart wouldn’t stop fluttering and his mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

San suddenly stopped, his arms falling. He huffed. “Are you just going to stand there?” he questioned. “Or will you join me?” He spun around then, facing Wooyoung, his head tilted.

For a second, Wooyoung considered hiding, but there was no use. He stepped out of the shadows, making himself visible, and crossed the opened door.

“I was just making sure you aren’t a better fighter than me,” he said nonchalantly, shrugging with one shoulder.

“Am I?” San asked, a smile growing on his face. It had a teasing note.

“Are you what?”

“Better than you?” 

“Of course not!” Wooyoung exclaimed. “No one is better than me,” he added flippantly.

“Then you surely won’t mind if we test that?”

Again, Wooyoung shrugged with one shoulder. “I don’t mind,” he said.

San’s smile stayed in place, his eyes crinkling, and gave one of his blades to Wooyoung. He positioned himself opposite of Wooyoung, blowing his fringe out of his face, the white strands melting into the black ones. Wooyoung wanted to ask about it, desperately so. It had been a while now since the Shadowhunters from Busan had joined them, but he hadn’t gotten a chance to really connect with them, only Gunhak seemed open to form closer bonds. And Jimin, but she was still grieving her parabatai, and Wooyoung didn’t want to disturb her.

Nonetheless, Wooyoung’s main interest still was in San, he wanted to know everything about him—which sounded crazy, even to himself.

“Show me what you got!” San’s smile transformed into a smirk as he swirled his weapon, its white blade cutting through the air, and waited for Wooyoung to strike first.

The setting they found themselves in was intense, Wooyoung couldn’t _not_ look at San’s face, he had to to read what his next movement would be, but it proved to be a difficult task because every time he so much as met San’s eyes, he had to fight the physical need to stand still and simply stare. 

Wooyoung inwardly shook himself, extended his arm to the side, and jumped, his hand and blade coming down on San in a swift motion, but of course San was quick, stopping the attack. The impact of both their blades colliding made Wooyoung’s arm tremble, it wasn’t unusual. He had fairly weak wrists, which was frustrating and often made him question his abilities. It was the reason why he favored throwing daggers. 

But Boah had trained him well, finding other strengths to apply as an advantage, such as using his feet swiftly to dodge his enemies attack and strike when the other least expected it. 

Wooyoung ducked, using his arm to push San forward, then quickly moving his seraph blade down. Of course he didn’t harm him, only let the tip of the blade hover over San’s shoulder, softly tapping it. 

He grinned. San whistled impressively.

“Not bad,” he said and drew back, again positioning him in an offensive pose.

“Thank you.”

This time, though, when Wooyoung attempted this move a second time, San was quick to read him and moved his leg out, making Wooyoung stumble. He lost his footing, slipping on the ground. He reached his hand out, encircling his fingers around San’s wrist—the one that wasn’t holding the blade—and dragged him down to the floor. 

Wooyoung’s plan was to use his blade and hold it over San’s neck, but the moment the other Shadowhunter fell on top of him, his weight heavy on Wooyoung, knocking the air out of his lungs, Wooyoung found himself distracted by the closeness of their faces.

It was so quick, the way in which his brain switched from battle mode to become completely blank. He blinked up at San, a whole new view presented in front of him. From up close, he could see the different specks of colors in San’s eyes, he could see the perfect slope of his nose, and, lastly, his lips. They were so incredibly pink and slightly chapped as he had been training for a while and foregone drinking water, but even so Wooyoung had the urge to reach out his fingers and trail the shape of them.

San was staring down at him with an unreadable look—not that Wooyoung could _really_ read him, but this one was even harder, almost completely guarded. San searched his eyes, Wooyoung openly returned his gaze; an intense, cackling tension formed between them. Wooyoung slowly grew aware of San’s legs tangled with his own, one of San’s arms propped on the floor, next to Wooyoung’s face, their chests pressed together, warmth radiating from him.

He had never found himself so close to another human—maybe with the exception of Jongho or Hyejoo or Boah when he had hugged them in the past, but that was entirely different. When it came to San there was a strange kind of pull, one Wooyoung couldn’t quite name. 

For a second, he believed San would close the gap between them, his hot breath fanning over Wooyoung’s face, and his lips tingled in anticipation. He swallowed, realizing that if San wanted to he could kiss him right now, and Wooyoung was surprised to find that he wasn’t totally opposed to it. He bit the inside of his cheek and let his eyes fall shut, his heart hammering in his chest.

He felt disappointment and shame course through him when he discovered that San did not have any plans to kiss him whatsoever. Instead, the other Shadowhunter pulled away, heaving himself off the ground until he was standing in front of Wooyoung.

The mortification of opening his eyes was drowning him and he felt a deep blush forming on his cheeks and traveling down his neck, the tips of his ears burning. He let out a shaky laugh, sitting up, tightly holding onto his seraph blade.

“N-Not bad,” he repeated San’s words from earlier at a lack of finding anything better to say. 

He stood up, not quite looking at San.

“Hmm,” was all San let out to that. He rolled his shoulders, staring at Wooyoung peculiarly. It was still mostly guarded, but a curiosity lingered in his eyes, as if he was seeing Wooyoung for the first time. “Another round?” he inquired then.

“Sure.” Wooyoung nodded, shaking himself. He needed to let go of the tension that had built in his shoulders and the crazy way in which his heart was beating, it wasn’t any good. What had even been thinking? That San would kiss him; was he crazy? 

The two young Shadowhunters again took their stances, circling around one another, their gazes locked as they waited for the other to start, but there was now an underlying, different tension growing in the thick air between them.

Wooyoung ensured to keep a certain distance this time around. 

The last time he had had such an intense and long training session with someone was years ago, when he had been sixteen or seventeen and desperately wanted to prove himself as a capable Shadowhunter, but seeing as Seoul had been quite safe the past years, he had focused on developing other skills and learning a whole lot about their history.

It wasn’t surprising to him when his limbs began hurting and his breathing was elaborate two hours later. His wrists protested; his whole body ached and begged him to rest.

San seemed to be exhausted as well, his hands were shaking and he was sweating profusely. They took a short break in which San removed his shirt, dragging it over his head and making his hair stand up in different directions. He discarded his shirt on the ground, eyeing it with disgust.

The sun filtering through the painted windows made San’s torso glister most beautifully. Blue and purple curving around his hips and abdomen, yellows and oranges swirling up his arms, specks of red and pink dusting his collarbones. Wooyoung held his breath, staring unashamedly. But what surprised him even more were the tattoos he detected on San’s skin. It was unusual for Shadowhunters to get tattoos. A withered rose stood darkly on the skin of San’s left hip bone. The other tattoo was below his right collarbone: a balance. 

San noticed Wooyoung’s inquisitive gaze and smiled. He trailed his fingers over the rose. “What do you think? I got them fairly recently.”

Wooyoung snapped his eyes up to his face, where green and turquoise played a beautiful game. “You’re—” He stopped and cleared his throat, blinking repeatedly as he caught himself. “They’re really pretty.”

San kept smiling, the warmth of it reaching his eyes. “Thank you. Do you have any tattoos?”

Wooyoung shook his head. “I never even considered it.”

“You should. I bet they would look good on you.”

A jolt shot up Wooyoung, nearly making him drop his seraph blade. “I’ll, uh, I’ll think about it.”

San hummed. “Should we carry on?” he asked.

“Sure.”

They kept going for half an hour, but then, all of a sudden, San collapsed on the ground after Wooyoung had successfully stopped his tirade of strikes. San’s seraph blade skittered over the colorful floor to the corner of the room.

Wooyoung kneeled by his side, worriedly eyeing him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” San replied hoarsely. His hands were shaking badly; he was trying to hide it by balling them into fists, but Wooyoung was quick to catch on.

“Is there anything I can do?”

San stayed quiet, his eyelashes fluttering close as he harshly breathed in and out. Wooyoung could see that he was in pain.

“No,” San croaked out.

Wooyoung glanced at the sliver of white hair. He bit the inside of his cheek, keeping himself from asking.

“Perhaps we should stop for today. It’s late already.” He reached out his hand to grab San’s bicep and help him up, but San shook him off.

“I’m _fine_ ,” he repeated through gritted teeth. “You can leave. I’ll—” He coughed. “I’ll be fine.”

It didn’t sound reassuring at all, but Wooyoung knew him too little to know what he was meant to do. 

“Okay.”

“Can you get Yerim?” San rasped out when Wooyoung was already standing up.

“Of course.” 

With one last glance at San, he bolted out of the room to the library where he had last seen Yerim. She was reading up on Shadowhunter history together with Hyunjin, Gunhak, and Jongho. They were convinced they could find answers to the experiments in old files and documents. 

Wooyoung bursted through the library door, breathing heavily as he had sprinted the whole way there.

He spotted the little group gathered in the center of the room, by one of the larger tables—open books, scattered papers, notebooks, and pens all around them. Jongho had his nose buried in a thick book on the history of demons, while Hyunjin was tapping her pencil on the table as she tried to read through a thick volume about notorious Shadowhunters, her eyebrows were furrowed. Gunhak was asleep in one of the seats. Yerim was in the midst of scribbling down notes.

Wooyoung ran over to their table, stopping only centimeters from Yerim. “San needs you,” he told her.

Yerim looked up at him in surprise. Hyunjin and Jongho eyed him curiously. His _parabatai_ got up immediately, sensing Wooyoung’s distressed state.

“What happened?” Yerim asked, already following Wooyoung out of the library.

“We were training and he-he suddenly collapsed.”

Yerim cursed under her breath. “Dumb-ass,” she muttered, but clearly she was worried.

When they got back to the practice room, San was no longer lying on the floor. He was sitting underneath one of the windows, his back propped up against the wall. The colorful reflections were no longer playing masterpieces on his skin, instead he sat in darkness. He had his knees pulled up to his chest, his head lowered with his arms around it, his fingers tightly fisted into his hair.

“San!” Yerim cried out, rushing over to him. She kneeled by his side, gently pulling his head up so she could check his temperature. She turned around to face Wooyoung, a troubled look crossing her face. “Please—Wooyoung, this may sound rude, but could you please leave us alone?” she rushed out.

Wooyoung stood still for a second, looking at the two of them. Lastly, he nodded his head, feeling a little dejected. “Of course.” He turned around and quietly left the practice room, closing the door behind himself so no one else could perturb them.

With a resigned sigh, he marched to the floor where all the private chambers lay. He opened the door to Hyejoo’s room, not even bothering to knock, and let himself fall down on her bed. Hyejoo herself was seated at her desk, practicing rune drawing. She wrinkled her nose at his disarrayed and sweaty state, but the moment she realized he was in an off mood she approached him, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

“What is it?”

“What are your thoughts on… _boys_?” he asked in a quiet voice.

He couldn’t see her face, but he imagined she was frowning deeply, a little confused.

“I think… I think boys can be great, but they’re also stinky,” she answered. “Very specifically, there is this one boy named Jung Wooyoung. He is exceptionally stinky and thinks it’s okay to lay down on _my_ _bed_ while being this stinky, and I—”

“Okay, I get it,” he huffed out, pushing himself up. He laughed at her disgusted expression. “Sorry.” He scratched his neck. “I’ll get your sheets cleaned and will bring you new ones.”

Hyejoo sighed. “Don’t worry about that.” She searched his face. “What happened?”

Wooyoung shrugged miserably. 

“ _Woo_.” She settled next to him, crossing her legs. She pushed a hand through her short, black hair as she stared at him patiently.

“Maybe I think that boys are great too.”

She gave him a funny look, tilting her head, a delicate frown forming as her lips twitched. Then the realization dawned on her. “Oh. _Oh_.”

“Yeah.”

She leaned forward, patting his shoulder amiably. “That’s cool, you know? Not that I particularly am fond of boys—or anyone—but if you ever wanna gush over them, I’m here to listen.”

“Thank you.”

“I bet Hyunjin would also _love_ to have boy talks with you,” she said sarcastically.

Wooyoung laughed. “Yeah, right!”

Hyejoo shrugged. “Jongho then,” she said, then started laughing. “On second thought…”

“Don’t worry. I don’t have any boys to gush over,” Wooyoung reassured her. “There aren’t even any boys here for me to—” He gestured his hand around in the air. 

Hyejoo nodded her head in understanding. “What about San and Gunhak?” she asked then, her eyes bright as she studied him.

“They—” Wooyoung hesitated. “They won’t be staying here for long. It wouldn’t make sense.”

“Okay.” Hyejoo didn’t look away, neither did Wooyoung. “But you would tell me, right? If you fall in love?”

Wooyoung thought of San. The colors dancing on his skin, the tattoos inked into his tan skin, his intense and alluring eyes, the shape of his mouth when he smiled…

“Sure,” he said with a nod, unable to tell if he was lying.

**~*~**

The residents of the Institute of Seoul were all huddled in Boah’s study, Youngjae and Jongho had carried over a few more seats so they all could fit. Despite that, San chose to stand by the windows, Yerim by his side, both of them with their arms behind their backs and matching tired looks.

Wooyoung noted that San looked much better than he had hours earlier, not as pale or shaky anymore, but his tiredness was very visible. They hadn’t spoken since then, not even during dinner an hour ago. Wooyoung was choosing to give him space, he didn’t want to come off as too strong or annoying.

San shot him a meek smile when their eyes crossed. Wooyoung felt his cheeks heat up at the fact that he had been caught, but he made sure to return the smile, aiming for something comforting.

Boah was the last to join them, Hongjoong in tow. The warlock was dressed in simple, beige linen pants with a white button up tucked into the waist. His fingers were decorated with rings as always, his neck not short on thin silver chains. He greeted the group of Shadowhunters before he took his seat amidst them.

“I apologize that I could not come sooner. I am aware this is of great matter, but I had important business to take care of,” Hongjoong began. He eyed the little mountain of books that were atop the table in front of his seat.

“It’s good that you are here now,” Boah told him. “After hours of research, we have found information about what you indicated to us, the cursed scrolls from 1899 that should have been destroyed. Sadly, not much was documented of the attacks in New York, as if they were trying to conceal the truth.” Boah had an annoyed and disappointed look on her face, her lips twisted. “We could not find many connections or names of those involved.”

“Unsurprisingly so,” Hongjoong muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. “It was a twisted and dark affair, and many of those involved—especially on the side of the Nephilim—tried to hide it, bent the reality. Many Nephilim later refuted their involvements and only one of them ended up being punished,” Hongjoong explained, he leaned forward to open one of the books.

“It says in the documents that you were involved,” Boah pointed out carefully.

Hongjoong chuckled humorlessly.

“That is the tragic thing. Not even being immortal prevents mortals—whom you might not even have met—from writing your story inaccurately. They select what gets to live on, it’s inevitable. But unlike these books,” Hongjoong ran his fingers across the covers in a strangely delicate manner, “ _I was there_.”

“Then tell us,” Wooyoung begged. “Tell us what happened in 1899.”

Hongjoong sat in silence for a long time, staring at the fireplace with a pensive look, his eyes glazed over as he swam through his memories. 

“I suppose it all started when I met up with the International Institute of New York. One of these abominations had filtered through the wards in October of 1899 during the International Feast,” he began narrating. “It was a nasty affair at first. We had no clue how big this ordeal was and who was involved with it. Many lives were lost…” He pressed his lips together. “And others—Other lives were ruined.” He inhaled deeply, smiling ruefully. “The work was mostly done by a mundane man—Wallace Grant—but he had help from a powerful vampire as well as a warlock. It was shocking to discover that one of your own, a very notorious Shadowhunter, had his fingers entangled in this whole ordeal.” He tapped his chin. “I suppose it wasn’t so surprising for us Downworlders, we are well aware of many secrets.”

“Yes. It was indeed a dark moment for us,” Boah agreed, nodding gravely. “If you have the names of those involved, I beg of you, Hongjoong. It might be important.”

“Of course.” The warlock nodded his head, reaching out his hand, palm up, and Boah handed him a pen and paper. The warlock wrote down several names, some of them were Shadowhunters. Boah scanned the list of names. Of course the names of the Shadowhunters involved had been crossed out from the history books, to protect their virtue and bloodlines.

Hongjoong circled one of the names. “He was the Shadowhunter that was the most involved, he was the only one punished, stripped of his runes. He died in the cells of the Silent City. The others escaped by either refusing they ever had been part of it or with lower punishments.”

Wooyoung read the name over and over again, a sick feeling settling deep in his stomach. The Shadowhunter had once been known for his power and knowledge, his downfall had been gracefully ignored over the years. Shadowhunters liked to look past those that had done wrong between their own.

“There is no way to stop this. These blood abominations are powerful and hard to fight. We must strike its creator—or creators,” Hongjoong continued. 

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Boah nodded her head. “And again, I’d like to apologize that this is repeating itself.”

Hongjoong shook his head. “It isn’t your fault, Boah. Many of us Downworlders side with you and want to put an end to this. We have grown far too much to blame this on the entirety of Nephilim or Downworlders. This is the work of a sick few.”

“Can you tell us a little more about the Shadowhunters you were involved with at the time?” Wooyoung asked, recalling Hongjoong mentioning that he had been friends with Shadowhunters in 1899. “How did they uncover this the first time?”

Hongjoong smiled, far away with his thoughts once again. “For one they worked alone and in the dark, no one knew what they were doing. I aided them because I believed they could do it. They were a group of young Nephilim, around your age.” His eyes wandered over to Wooyoung, searching his face. “In fact, two of them were related to you. Your great-great-great,” he stopped, frowning, a laugh escaping him, “grandparents—far too many _greats_ , if you ask me. Kang Yeosang and Jung Jinsoul. As well as Jung Yunho, Jinsoul’s cousin, and others.”

Wooyoung felt cold shivers run through him. He didn’t like to think of his mother’s side of his family tree, not after she had abandoned him, but hearing from Hongjoong’s mouth the names of his ancestors and how they had greatly battled the same dangers made a rush of excitement run through him, wanting to know more. 

“Jung Yunho?” San echoed, his eyebrows rising. “Wasn’t he the banned Nephilim?”

Hongjoong’s face darkened. “Yes.”

“Why was he banned?” Jongho asked, leaning forward.

“Ah. For having intimate relations with a Downworlder,” he revealed.

San scoffed, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Wooyoung looked over at him, his brown eyes ablaze with anger. He looked appalled. “That’s it?”

“The Downworlder in question was a man.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Hyejoo breathed out, a deafening silence following in.

“There were a lot of stories back then that have been wrongly documented. Pretend marriages, unconventional families…” Hongjoong carried on. He glanced at Wooyoung. “The marriage between Jinsoul and Yeosang wasn’t out of love—or in a way, you could say it was, but they both loved other people… People they couldn’t be with at the time as it was frowned upon, but they made it work.”

“I had no idea,” Wooyoung muttered, feeling the heavy weight of his uncovered family history on his shoulders. He had always hated that he had his mother’s family name instead of his father’s, but perhaps he could reconsider, seeing as his ancestors’ tales were so riveting. 

“Were they the ones to discover the notorious Shadowhunter involved with these crimes?” Hyunjin spoke up quietly, jerking her chin in the direction of the list of names.

“Indeed.” Hongjoong nodded. “It was a painful ordeal, but the right side won back then. I hope it can win this time too. And that the scripts are eliminated this time around.” He shot a meaningful look at Boah.

“Of course.”

They were interrupted when Youngjae entered the room, holding a paper tightly in his right hand. He waved it in the air, a successful smile on his face. “It wasn’t easy getting this from the Silent Brothers, but I had a little help from Brother Akoni, who agreed it was rather sickening that these scrolls had been kept intact.”

“Ah, Brother Akoni. One of the more charming Silent Brothers,” Hongjoong said, nodding solemnly. “I had the fortune of meeting him a few times in 1899, sadly under very sorrowful occasions.” 

Youngjae stepped forward, unfolding the paper on the table, turning it so that Hongjoong could take a look at it. 

“Do any of these names ring a bell? Anyone related to those involved with the matter back in 1899 perhaps?”

Hongjoong leaned forward, his adorned index finger passing over the names. He stopped at one. “Park Beomhyuk? Park Minhyuk?” he echoed.

Boah hummed. “They’re not related, two entirely different families who bear the same name. Park Minhyuk’s family is a fairly new one, they were turned into Shadowhunters in the 70’s as a huge demon problem was plaguing the Shadow World,” she explained. “Park Beomhyuk, on the other hand… I believe his family is much older, dating back centuries. I would have to write to the Council to request more information on his bloodline.”

Hongjoong nodded his head. “The other names don’t really mean anything to me, but it is worth digging into their family trees too. You never know which one of these Nephilim has a dark past.”

His statement left a tense silence, but no one refused him.

“I shall do that,” Boah said, handing the paper back to Youngjae, who wordlessly left the room again to follow Boah’s silent instructions. “Anything else of importance?”

Hongjoong hesitated. “I am in possession of old letters. Correspondence between I and some of the young Shadowhunters that unveiled the story, as well as correspondence between them.” He looked at Wooyoung. “If you’d like, I can bring them. Not just for the case at hand, but if you want to know more about your ancestors.”

Wooyoung looked down at his hands, his father’s family ring on his ring finger. His mother’s was deeply stuffed in one of his desk drawers, far away and to be forgotten. 

He swallowed, sensing all eyes on him, and then nodded. “Yes, I—I think I’d like that.”

Jongho’s eyes widened, knowing how much Wooyoung had battled in the past years when it came to his parents, especially his mom. He smiled reassuringly at his _parabatai_ , Wooyoung gave the ghost of a smile back.

“Do you perhaps have any information on my family?” San suddenly spoke up. He was still standing by the large windows, his head lowered as he blankly stared at his intertwined hands, his shoulders hunched. Yerim had a comforting hand on his lower back.

“What was your name again?”

“Choi San,” he responded, looking up challengingly. 

Hongjoong’s eyes immediately flickered over to San’s pointy ears. “No. I’m afraid not. I apologize.”

“It’s okay.” San brushed it off with a shrug, but Wooyoung could see that it pained him. He wanted to walk over to him and comfort him, but there wasn’t much he could offer as he struggled with a quite similar issue.

“I’ll have to talk with my dear friend first—about these letters—but I am sure he won’t mind,” Hongjoong continued as if there hadn’t been an interruption.

Wooyoung gave a short nod. “Thank you.”

Hongjoong looked around and then proceeded to dust off his pants before he stood up. “Well, I believe that’s it?” He gave Boah a questioning look, who nodded her head. “Then I will be leaving. If you discover anything new, please contact me. I will be working closely together with the vampires and werewolves to see if they have any news. Seoho might be of great help as he was there too.” He hesitated before continuing, looking at San. “The faerie folk have been expectedly silent about this, but I’ll write them anew.”

“Thank you, Hongjoong. Your help means a lot to us.” Boah accompanied him out of her study.

**~*~**

**Seoul, October 21st 2019**

The late afternoon offered little light as the sun was behind a thick wall of thunderclouds, rain splattering against the colorful windows, making it look as if the brave Shadowhunters painted on them were crying. 

Wooyoung was seated in the library, a thick book about Shadowhunter ancestry opened in his lap. After spending the morning training with the others, he had decided to dedicate his afternoon to the research of his past. His mother’s family ring was on the small table next to his seat together with a tray full of freshly baked cookies that their cook had brought him half an hour ago.

The great thing about this particular book was that there were pictures next to all the names. After Wooyoung had fought with himself for a few minutes, scared to see his parents’ faces in it, he had finally mustered up the courage to open it, gracefully ignoring his mother’s smiling face—a thick X drawn over it—to search for the faces he was looking for. 

The union between Kang Yeosang and Jung Jinsoul had been a short one, five years later they had divorced and remained unmarried for the rest of their lives, but they had had one child, who had carried Jinsoul’s family name instead of Yeosang’s for reasons unspecified. The Kang family name had died after that, the only other Kang—Kang Mina—hadn’t married either.

Wooyoung studied his ancestors with interest. Kang Yeosang was a handsome young man, with dark hair much like Wooyoung’s, shoulder long and pulled into a bun. Jinsoul had an angelic looking face, a little bit of mischief hidden in her eyes. 

It didn’t take him long to find the banned Shadowhunter—Jung Yunho—Mina’s _parabatai_. There was little information about him. Wooyoung would have to ask Hongjoong for more. It did say that he hadn’t married and had died in 1918 due to a sickness, Jinsoul had begged the Council to have him buried on the grounds of the Institute of Seoul, an unusual request as Shadowhunters were buried in the City of Bones—or in the case of Yunho, he would have been buried in the Cemetery of the Disgraced. Even more unusual was that the Council had agreed. 

However, Wooyoung found more information about this particular group of Shadowhunters in a different thick and old book that documented the population of the Institutes throughout the years as he delved into the tales of the International Institute of New York in 1899. He stumbled upon Park Seonghwa, the son of Park Jinhyuk. Jinhyuk the once notorious Shadowhunter that had met a tragic end, of course there was not much about Jinhyuk, it had been purposefully been left out, but his son had lived quite a long and successful life, becoming the youngest Inquisitor in 1905 at age twenty-five. 

What struck Wooyoung as odd was that he had been unmarried, too, but apparently he had a very close friendship with Yeosang, often aiding Yeosang and Jinsoul with the International Institute of New York and strengthening the relations with Downworlders. 

Wooyoung thought back to Hongjoong’s words, that Yeosang and Jinsoul had had other people they had loved and thus their marriage had been a pretend one. It made him wonder what _exactly_ the warlock had meant by that.

He kept reading through the book, trying to form an idea of these young Shadowhunters that had all collided in 1899, fighting a terrifying and powerful group of enemies, and wondered how many secrets had been kept out of these official documents.

Wooyoung wasn’t sure how much time had passed when approaching footsteps startled him out of his read. San stood in the library, dressed in black as usual, his hair wet from a shower. 

He tilted his head curiously.

“Jongho told me I might find you here. What are you reading?”

“About my family,” Wooyoung answered, not asking why San was looking for him, he wasn’t sure his heart could take much more in that moment.

“Oh.” San took the seat next to his, peering over Wooyoung’s arms at the book. “What Hongjoong has said must have left an impression, huh?”

Wooyoung nodded. “I have avoided this for a very long time, too much of it made me think of my mother and I—We don’t have a good relationship, if one at all. But this is extremely interesting and as much as I hate her, this is my bloodline, my past, my _family_.”

“I get what you mean,” San spoke up softly. “My mother abandoned me at the doors of the Institute of Busan when I was four, after my father was brutally murdered. I haven’t seen or heard from her since then.”

“I’m sorry,” Wooyoung muttered, closing the book so he could look at San. “My mother abandoned her life as a Shadowhunter when I was ten, meaning she has to keep away from me. I don’t think she minded it that much.”

San pressed his lips together, scrunching up his nose. “That’s awful of her.”

Wooyoung shrugged. “It’s not as if I can change it. I’m good without her in my life. Boah and Youngjae have been more than welcoming and nurturing. They’re my family too.”

“I get what you mean. Yerim, she’s my cousin, but it’s much more than that. Gunhak and Jimin too. I grew up with them and my bonds with them are so meaningful, sometimes I don’t even miss my parents, they make up for it…”

“But?” Wooyoung carried on.

San smiled, it was sad around the edges. “But in a world where your blood family is supposed to carry so much meaning, it’s hard not to feel some kind of void.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, agreeing wholly. 

They shared a strange yet comfortable kind of silence. 

San suddenly chuckled, a wonderful sound. “You’re much easier to talk to than I thought.”

Wooyoung frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“No offense, but you were kind of a dick when we first met. The typical arrogant Nephilim,” he explained. Wooyoung opened his mouth to protest. “But you’re not like that at all—at least not completely. I guess it’s inevitable to not be arrogant as a Shadowhunter.” 

He grinned, his eyes crinkling, a row of perfectly white and straight teeth peeking through his red lips. The grin was innocent enough, playful, but Wooyoung felt a deep burning sensation in his abdomen, it reached far up and made his lungs constrict, until his whole face was on fire.

“Um,” he let out intelligently. “I guess you’re right. I’m sorry for being a dick.”

“Bah.” San dismissively waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

Wooyoung searched his face then, trying to find traces of the incident the day before, when San had collapsed, but there was nothing to find. He looked healthy, his skin glowing, his eyes focused and bright, no shakiness or tiredness attached to his limbs.

Even so, Wooyoung asked quietly, “San, are you alright?” The Shadowhunter tilted his head in confusion. “I mean after yesterday, when you—”

“I’m fine. I told you so already,” San interrupted him sharply. Wooyoung recoiled. San inhaled deeply. “Sorry. I’m fine, really.”

“If it ever happens again, you can count on me.”

San gave him a strange smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Before an uncomfortable silence could spread between them, he continued, “I was going to go on a walk, would you like to accompany me?”

“ _Yes_!” Wooyoung quickly agreed—maybe too quickly—completely forgetting the ancestry book and his odd bloodline.


	10. May The Angel Hold You Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was exhilarating and terrifying to be kissing him. Seonghwa felt as though he was walking down a hallway with doors that had always been closed and all of a sudden they were unlocked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: minor character death, im sorry really about that..
> 
> it's another long one, with a LOT happening, hope you enjoy!!

**New York, November 12th 1899**

Once again the moon accompanied them through the night, this time much brighter as the full moon was nearing. Their group only consisted of Yeosang, Mingi, Hwanwoong, Mina, and Seonghwa for this particular mission, Yunho and Jinsoul had stayed back, still mourning the loss of Jessica.

With the help of Hongjoong, they had concealed the scent of their Angel blood, it wouldn’t be wise entering a den of freshly transformed vampires without doing so, they’d be alarmed from miles away. Seoho had tipped them off, telling them he had heard talk about different new dens that the Night’s Queen had created. It had been difficult for him obtaining this information, but Irene had promised to pay him handsomely for his loyalty to them. Seonghwa hadn’t told his father about this trip, the guilt was a heavy weight on his shoulders, but there was something so _liberating_ about joining Yeosang and his friends on this adventure in the cover of the dark with no one knowing about it.

“We should split up once we get there,” Yeosang commented as they walked through the familiar streets of Brooklyn. The den was situated near Sunset Park, the scent of the docks growing stronger with every step they got closer. 

“I agree,” Hwanwoong nodded his head. “I will stick with Mingi and Mina, we will enter through the main entrance. Seonghwa and you should take the back entrance.”

Yeosang glanced at Seonghwa briefly, but did not complain, which was unusual. Then again, neither did Seonghwa complain. If he was honest, he did not feel as uncomfortable or irritated anymore towards Yeosang—something he tried not to give much thought. Their closeness at Hongjoong’s birthday celebration definitely had changed their entire relationship, a new and unexplored territory for them both, but for the sanity of the group and the mission they tried their best to maintain something bordering on friendly. 

It was terribly awkward.

“I wish Yunho and Jinsoul were here to witness this,” Mina commented, curiously eyeing the two boys. “No complaints, no arguing. This is so peaceful it is almost jarring!”

“Oh, do you want me to complain?” Seonghwa asked, but it was playful.

“Heavens, no.” Mina laughed.

“I think it will be good,” Mingi quipped happily. Giving Yeosang a cheeky grin, it reminded Seonghwa a little of Yunho. “It was about time you two bonded.”

Yeosang grumbled something under his breath that no one caught. Mingi shoved him playfully.

“This might sound nutty, but I have to agree with Mingi,” Seonghwa spoke up carefully, exchanging a heavy look with Yeosang.

“Maybe miracles do come true,” Hwanwoong said under his breath.

“We are Shadowhunters, miracles are for mundanes,” Yeosang retorted, but his cheeks were a little pink, and Seonghwa thought—

Well, he wasn’t quite sure _what_ he thought of it, but something was knocking on the back of his head incessantly. 

They reached the two story large building near Sunset Park an hour later, witty banter shared between them. Even without the information that this place guarded about twenty vampires, it did give off a very gloomy atmosphere. It was unfinished, wooden planks covering the windows, the main entrance was half hidden behind metal scraps and trash lying around. High bushes grew all around, the park situated behind it nearly swallowed it.

Seoho had told them, the building had been abandoned for quite a while, some rich men from around the city had tried to acquire it and make something out of it, but as if a curse lay over it, it had remained abandoned. 

Seonghwa wondered now if that curse held the name of the Night’s Queen.

“Does anyone else feel terrible dread deep in their bones?” Mingi asked with a shaky voice.

“Certainly.” Mina shivered, glancing up at the dark and unfinished rooftop. “Well, no delaying the inevitable,” she added, stepping forward, towards the entrance. Mingi meekly followed her.

Hwanwoong turned towards Yeosang. “One hour,” he said, “and we meet back here. Then we hatch out a plan.”

Yeosang nodded his head, already craning his neck to explore the street up and down to see where the second entrance, that Seoho told them about, could be. Seonghwa watched him for a moment as he readjusted his gear and drew out his seraph blade just in case. 

It _was_ eerily quiet. That could never be a good sign.

“Let’s go,” he whispered, jerking his chin in the direction of the narrow alley to the right of the building, half hidden behind thick tree branches, but Seonghwa had noticed one of them was snapped, hanging dangerously as wind made it dance in a sad manner.

Yeosang followed him without any protests.

It was difficult getting through the nature that threatened to take over, but they eventually found a wooden door, different from the rest of the building, more recent. With an Unlocking rune, Seonghwa pushed the door open, immediately getting his witchlight to illuminate the blackness that welcomed them. 

It was unexpectedly empty inside, crates upon crates lining the walls of the room, a maze of trash and old furniture expanded in front of them.

“Great,” Seonghwa huffed, annoyed.

“What did you mean earlier?” Yeosang suddenly spoke up, as they tried to find a door or passage.

“What do you mean?” Seonghwa inquired, turning around.

“When you said that you agree with Mingi,” Yeosang clarified, a frown forming between his brows. Seonghwa stopped, lowering his witchlight so their faces were nearly in complete darkness. “I mean, you _have_ to admit it was very unexpected coming from you, considering the nature of our relationship and—” he stuttered, very unlike himself. 

Seonghwa wished he was brave enough to raise his head and see if Yeosang was blushing or not.

“With everything going on, our rivalry is starting to seem very pointless,” Seonghwa answered honestly. “I will admit that I am still wary of you, you have a terrible personality and are rather vexing, but so am I and,” he shrugged, “it becomes tiring fighting three fronts at once.”

Yeosang stared at him unwaveringly, his dark brown eyes so inquisitorial and intense that Seonghwa feared he could read exactly what was going on in his mind. Once, it would have bothered him, to have the person he disliked the most be able to read him so well, but perhaps that was something unique Yeosang possessed, to see Seonghwa in all his ugliness and the whirlwind of chaos inside him—one that Yeosang never quite had been afraid to summon, unlike everyone else. 

He had seen how truly mean Seonghwa could get and yet there he was by his side, working closely together with him. 

That _had_ to mean something.

“Possibly, I have misjudged you too,” Yeosang mumbled. “You are not as bad as I always painted you.”

“What was that?” Seonghwa couldn’t help the grin spreading out on his face. It felt like a victory.

Yeosang walked past him, bumping his shoulder into Seonghwa’s. “Oh, shut it, gibface.” But Seonghwa did see the smile on his face.

Before they could explore the room any further, distant voices pierced through the silence. The Shadowhunters exchanged an alarmed look. Quickly, Seonghwa grabbed Yeosang’s forearm, pushing him between two tall towers of crates, pressing himself into the small space. He shoved the witchlight and seraph blade to his belt, submerging them into darkness. 

“—Cara wants of us?” one of the vampires spoke with a gravelly voice.

“Do not call her that!” the other hissed, sounding scared, he had a rather high pitched, squeaky voice. “She does not want anyone calling her that. If Mr Grant heard you, he would have you killed.”

“Lucky me that he is not present.” The vampires entered the room, their light footsteps coming closer. “What do you think the Night’s Queen has planned for us?” he repeated his question.

“I heard we are part of the select few that will—”

“Shh! Did you hear that?” 

Seonghwa’s heart was racing. They could take them out, two against two was as even as a fight could get, but there was the danger that one of them could escape and alarm the rest of the den, and that was the last thing they needed. If they weren’t killed by vampires, then surely Hwanwoong would kill them for compromising the mission.

He looked down at Yeosang with the pretense of signaling to him that they should try to quietly leave while they still could, there was enough cover for them to make it out unseen, but the moment his eyes met Yeosang’s in the dark, he was stunned into complete silence. They were standing _so close_ , their chests nearly touching, a warmth radiating from the younger Shadowhunter that seeped through Seonghwa’s gear, hushing over his skin as it buried itself deep in his bones.

The two vampires kept roaming through the room, talking still, but their words sounded muffled all of a sudden, Seonghwa’s heartbeat sounded all too loud in his own ears. He swallowed, not sure what to do next. Yeosang seemed to be frozen too.

“You—” Yeosang started, his voice so very quiet and raspy. “You should kiss me.”

Seonghwa widened his eyes, his heart beating impossibly quicker. “Pardon?”

“As a distraction,” Yeosang added.

Possibly, it was a huge mistake, but Seonghwa’s mind was too blank and high wired at the same time to completely think this through—consider if it really was a good idea, if it really could count as a distraction—and so he leaned forward, his hands blindly searching for Yeosang’s face. When he found it, he gently cradled it, the tips of his fingers burying themselves in Yeosang’s long hair.

He held his face in place and closed the distance between them.

When their lips collided, Yeosang let out a quiet gasp and stiffened, as if he hadn’t truly believed Seonghwa would kiss him. The kiss was chaste at first, just a light brush of their lips, but then, one of Yeosang’s own hands came up to rest against Seonghwa’s face, the other finding its way to his waist. There wasn’t much Seonghwa could do against the rush that filled him, something so loud and all encompassing, and at the same time a quiet flutter of a butterfly’s wings in a wide forest. 

He melted into Yeosang’s touch, deepening the kiss. His knees almost gave way the moment Yeosang finally kissed him back, desperately and heatedly so. 

It was a confusing matter because as much as Seonghwa was enjoying the kiss, he was very aware that this was _Yeosang_.

Yeosang with whom he had an ongoing rivalry over the past years, a constant burning dislike, their conversations never friendly or ending on good terms, their views on how to behave as a Shadowhunter so split and different… But at the same time, Seonghwa couldn’t deny that spending so much time with Yeosang over the past weeks had greatly changed his opinion and made him realize that a lot of his own thoughts had been manufactured by his father, making him believe there was only one right way to be a Shadowhunter, that it was all about the Law and their blood and honor, when really it was about doing what was _right_.

But Seonghwa never had had the bravery to stand up against the giant that his father was, not until now at least. Yeosang had sparked a courage in him that he had never really possessed before.

It was exhilarating and terrifying to be kissing him. Seonghwa felt as though he was walking down a hallway with doors that had always been closed and all of a sudden they were unlocked.

He pressed himself firmer against Yeosang’s body, moving one of his hands down to grasp at Yeosang’s waist, feeling the hard edges of muscles and his hip bones, while his other hand stayed where it was, his fingers playing with a strand of hair that had come loose. 

Just when Seonghwa was forgetting who he was and where they were, completely falling into the kiss, brushing his tongue over Yeosang’s bottom lip, eliciting another breathless gasp, the voices of the two vampires brought him back to the present. 

“Are my eyes deceiving me or—” the vampire with the gravelly voice was saying, a note of amusement in his voice.

Seonghwa detached himself from Yeosang, who leaned forward as if he was chasing Seonghwa’s mouth. It sent a thrill up Seonghwa’s spine. They stood close still, but Seonghwa had his face half turned towards the vampires to listen in better. Yeosang let out a strangled sound, the hand that was on Seonghwa’s waist twitching before he removed it, but he kept his other hand still cupping Seonghwa’s cheek.

“We should kill them. I am hungry.”

“No.” There was shuffling noise. “We cannot draw any more attention to our den. Too many mundanes have gone missing already. Let’s just leave them.”

“What are two more casualties?” the other protested.

“Those two casualties could make all the difference! It is a wonder the Nephilim have not found us yet. We should not disappoint the Night’s Queen. You hardly want to end like good, ol’ Michael.”

The vampire with the squeaky voice hummed, and their footsteps retreated.

Seonghwa waited for a moment, his heart moments away from jumping out of his chest. The ghost of Yeosang’s lips lingered on his, the imprint of his exploring hands still caused a fire on Seonghwa’s skin. He needed to step away, put as much distance in between them as possible; if he didn’t he would just end up closing the gap again. Now that he had had a taste of those lips, thinking it would not matter to him, he was finding that there was nothing else he’d like to do more than to kiss Yeosang again.

It was a terrifying truth.

“We should go,” Yeosang spoke up, his voice deeper than usual, hoarse around the edges. “Hwanwoong probably wonders where we are.”

“Yes,” Seonghwa agreed, hesitating for a moment before he finally stepped back, his hands falling from Yeosang’s body. His fingertips felt like they were on fire. 

Once they were outside, the pale moonlight shining down on them, he turned to look at Yeosang. Some strands had escaped his perfectly made bun and his lips looked redder than usual. Seonghwa’s heart jumped anew, but he quickly looked away.

“Good call,” was all he said.

“Huh?” Yeosang hummed in confusion.

“The distraction,” Seonghwa clarified. “That was a good tactic.”

“Oh.” Yeosang laughed awkwardly, a strange sound, as if he was suffocating. “Yes…”

When Seonghwa dared to glance at him he saw a faint blush on his cheeks, and no matter how hard he wished he could fight it, his own cheeks heated up.

When they reunited with their friends, Hwanwoong didn’t say anything thankfully, he simply began explaining that they had found an easy entrance to the place, counting about fifteen vampires inside.

“Do you really think we can take them all out?” Mingi asked worriedly. 

“We are five trained Shadowhunter versus a bunch of inexperienced vampires,” Mina pointed out. “It should be easy.”

“Your _parabatai_ is not here tonight,” Seonghwa told her. “Do not forget that.”

“I have fought many battles without Yunho by my side. I will be fine.”

“If you say so…”

“I do.” Mina shot him a withering _look_ . “You do not even have a _parabatai_ ,” she added a moment later. 

Seonghwa pressed his tongue against his teeth, refraining from saying something. He only shrugged. He might be unbothered now that Yunho wasn’t his _parabatai_ and had found he didn’t need one, but sometimes he yearned for a bond like that. If anything, to enhance his battling and the efficiency of the runes. Of course he never spoke this aloud.

“And we are sure they have broken the Accords?” Mingi interjected, biting his lower lip. “I know Seoho said so, but do we _really_ trust him? He is from the Night’s Queen den after all. If we slip up…” he trailed off, meaningfully looking at his friends.

“Hongjoong trusts him, so I trust him,” Yeosang said easily. “Seonghwa and I overheard two vampires speak about a high number of mundane bodies. They _have_ broken the Accords, if you do not believe Seoho, believe me.”

Mingi stared at him for a while, then nodded his head. “All right.”

After applying various runes on each other, Yeosang stiffly standing when it was Seonghwa’s turn to draw on him, and hatching out a solid plan on how to take out the vampires, they entered through the main entrance, their footsteps concealed.

They surprised three vampires, easily killing them as they hadn’t been prepared, but their cries alarmed the other occupants of the abandoned house. Soon ten vampires of varying ages were standing all around them, flashing their sharp teeth.

The five Shadowhunters stood their ground, their backs to one another as they faced the crowd of Children of the Night, their seraph blades and wooden stakes in their hands, and Yeosang had a row of silver daggers attached to his belt ready to throw at them to slow them down.

“ _Nephilim_ ,” one of them hissed disdainfully. She seemed to be their leader as the other vampires eyed her expectantly. “I should have known.” She laughed haughtily. “But you’re too late.”

“Too late for what?” Yeosang wondered, frowning.

“You cannot stop what is already set in motion,” she simply said.

Mina scoffed. “We are here to kill you.”

The vampire snapped her eyes to Mina. “I would like to see you try.”

For a beat nothing happened, the Downworlders and Shadowhunters stood in tense stances facing each other, then, swift as the wind, Yeosang started throwing his daggers at the vampires, hitting five of them. They immediately cried out in pain, stumbling to the ground. The rest of them moved at the same time, charging at them.

Seonghwa took on the leader, but she was quick, jumping away and making him stumble forward. He didn’t waste any time, instead ramming the wooden stake into the heart of one of the vampires Yeosang had hit with his daggers, killing him. He spun around and charged again at the leader, this time injuring her arm with his seraph blade. 

She simply laughed, grabbing him tightly and throwing him through the room, but it was a useful distraction as Mina immediately came up behind her, killing her. Seonghwa watched the light fade out in the vampire’s eyes, her listless body missing his only by centimeters.

“Thank you,” he grumbled out, taking Mina’s stretched out hand to haul him up.

Most vampires were either dead or suffering on the ground as they had been hit by the silver daggers, rendering them sick and useless in battle. Hwanwoong was using his small stature to move around and take them out one by one with the wooden stake. Yeosang was fighting two vampires at once, Mingi near him, fighting a rather large vampire. Seonghwa and Mina quickly aided them and soon they stood alone, surrounded by dead bodies. Their elaborate breathing filled the air now, they glanced at one another, making sure everyone was fine.

“That was not all, was it?” Mingi spoke up first, his voice hoarse.

“No. Seoho said there would be twenty at least,” Hwanwoong replied, already approaching Mingi to draw an _Iratze_ on his arm.

“ _Terrific_ ,” Mingi muttered, looking up at the ceiling, his face paler than usual. He was still breathing harshly, but Seonghwa knew that had more to do with the dead bodies than battle exhaustion.

“We should split up again and search for the remaining vampires if they have not left already,” Seonghwa said. “Same teams as before?” he added, busying himself with his stele, not meeting anyone’s eyes—especially not Yeosang’s. The rush of their kiss came back to him, and although their friends had no idea, he was scared the truth would be hidden in his eyes if he returned their gazes.

He was terrified Yeosang would see how much it had affected him.

“Sure,” came Mina’s answer. She was standing close to him. “Glad to see you are getting along with my cousin. It was about time,” she added, quietly, so only he heard her.

“In between Yunho and you insisting, I suppose it makes sense we put our differences aside and work together,” he said, still not looking up.

“Is that really all?” Mina asked.

This did make Seonghwa’s eyes snap up. Mina didn’t hold a suspicious look on her face, just curiosity. He looked at Yeosang, who was scanning the area unaware of their conversation.

“What other reason would there be?”

Mina shrugged. “Maybe that he is not as insufferable as you make him out to be or that the two of you are, in fact, quite similar.”

He hummed, taking her words into consideration. He still believed that Yeosang was very vexing, but perhaps it was a kind of annoyance Seonghwa could deal with. After all, he had been just as horrible. With his strict upbringing, he couldn’t really see how they were similar, but he didn’t tell this to Mina, instead he readied his weapon and helped Yeosang get his silver daggers back.

“We will go upstairs,” he said, fleetingly glancing at Yeosang who was fidgeting as he attached the daggers to his belt. Seonghwa then turned to the others. “You three check out the other rooms on this floor.”

Hwanwoong, Mingi, and Mina moved quickly, walking towards a door at the end of the room. Once they were gone, Seonghwa faced Yeosang again, his eyes halting on a deep cut on Yeosang’s arm, blood gushing out of the wound.

“You should heal that,” he said, encircling his fingers around the other’s elbow.

Yeosang startled, as if he only then noticed Seonghwa was right by his side. He blinked at Seonghwa, his eyes wide. “It is fine.” He gently yanked his arm out of Seonghwa’s grasp. “I will take care of it later.”

Without another word he walked towards the stairs, ascending to the second floor. Seonghwa cursed under his breath but followed him.

They found what appeared to be a bedroom: rows of beds lining up and down the walls, perfectly made sheets covering them, some had personal items lying on them such as books, clothes, outdoor attire, jewelry. There wasn’t much else to the room, not any doors and all the windows were blocked by wooden planks. Just as they were about to descend again, Seonghwa caught something moving in the shadows.

He reached out his arm to stop Yeosang, the palm of his hand on the other’s chest. He signalized him to stay quiet and jerked his chin in the direction of the movement. Yeosang squinted, then nodded.

Silently, they approached the far end of the room, in between two beds they found a young boy, around sixteen or seventeen, with pitch black hair. He was clearly a vampire, his eyes were torn wide with uncertainty and fear.

“Please, I—” he stuttered out.

Seonghwa exhaled shakily, exchanging a meaningful look with Yeosang. “We cannot kill him,” he said.

Yeosang held his gaze, an inner battle going on. “I agree,” he finally let out. He turned towards the boy. “Can you tell us where your maker is? The one that made you—That turned you into a vampire?”

The boy kept quiet, and in the silence they heard screams from downstairs. Finally, the boy nodded his head.

“I can do that,” he said, standing up. Hesitantly he walked past the two Shadowhunters to the flight of stairs, they followed him quickly as he made his way downstairs. 

“Wait here, I will get the others,” Yeosang said, jogging over to the room in which their friends had gone earlier.

Seonghwa waited with the vampire boy, who was eyeing the corpses around them with haunted eyes. Seonghwa swallowed, looking straight ahead as guilt made his guts twist. 

Thankfully, Yeosang was back rather quickly, their friends in tow. They looked at the young boy with perplexed expressions. 

“Who is this?” Hwanwoong asked.

“He is going to take us to his maker,” explained Yeosang.

“Do you really believe he will take us?” Mina inquired in a whisper.

Yeosang shrugged. “All we can do is trust he will.” He approached the boy, kneeling in front of him. “Will you take us?” 

The vampire boy held his gaze, eyes traveling momentarily over his now dead den, then he nodded his head. “I will. But promise me, that I will not end like them. I-I did not know what was going on,” he muttered. “One day I died and the next thing I know is that I am so _hungry_ —hungry for human blood.” His voice was shaking terribly. “Please, I do not want to become a monster.”

Yeosang reached out his hand, gently rubbing the boy’s shoulder. “I promise you. You will get the help you need.”

The vampire nodded his head. “Thank you.” He glanced at the other Shadowhunters. “Follow me. She lives by the docks.”

“She?” Mina echoed.

“The Night’s Queen,” the boy replied.

The Shadowhunters exchanged a quiet and meaningful look, hopeful under the layers of exhaustion and anticipation. This could be a determining lead, possibly giving them an advantage on Wallace Grant.

As they walked through Brooklyn, a chilly winter air creeping through the empty streets and into their bones, Yeosang tried to maintain a conversation with the vampire boy, whose name had been revealed to be Hyunjin. 

“When did you first meet the Night’s Queen?”

“A few months ago—two or three. I was out with some friends, we were assaulted by vampires. They brought us to her, she offered us a deal. I—We could not refuse it, it was as if she had us under a spell…” Hyunjin was telling them, his voice small and scared.

 _Encanto_ , Seonghwa thought bitterly. It was an ability vampires possessed, in which they enchanted humans—mundanes as well as Shadowhunters, but the latter had a rune to prevent that—to follow orders and believe anything they were told.

“It was a strange couple of weeks after that first encounter,” Hyunjin continued. “I do not remember much. Then I drowned. I was working at the docks and someone pushed me into the water. Usually, I would have swam to the surface, but suddenly I-I could not remember how to swim.” He shuddered. Yeosang patted his shoulder amiably. “I woke up in my grave, had to dig myself out, but there was someone waiting for me. The den’s leader, the one you killed. She took me there and said I would be safe.”

“I am sorry. That is terrible,” Mina muttered, a displeased pull to her lips. “Is there anything you can tell us about the Night’s Queen?”

Hyunjin bit his bottom lip, frowning as he tried to remember. “She is young. Maybe twenty or so. She is not from America, she has an accent… There are rumors she has a son, from before she was turned into a vampire.”

“Do you know her real name?” Hwanwoong asked him.

Hyunjin shook his head. “No. Sorry. The only name of importance I can give you is Wallace Grant, but I imagine you already know him.”

Yeosang let out a hollow laugh. “Yes, indeed we do.”

“He was there, when I first met the Night’s Queen. He was,” Hyunjin stopped, rubbing his temples as if he was having issues remembering, “surveying us as though we were not even human. He said we would make good candidates. For what, I am not sure. I have been kept in that building together with many other younger vampires, every couple of weeks some of them were taken away through a portal. I was supposed to leave in a few days with two other vampires.” He shrugged. “I guess I am lucky I am a coward, if not you would have killed me too.”

Seonghwa recoiled at that, feeling sick. He had grown up with a father that was adamant all Downworlders were monsters, but Hyunjin was just a kid. A kid with bad luck, who was craving human blood now and didn’t have a beating heart. But he wasn’t a monster.

They were near Sunset Park, where they had explored Wallace Grant’s old office, but Hyunjin took them to a little street that they all knew was quite populated during the nighttime, a center for Downworlders to socialize. Bars with glamour and magic sided the street, music played from some of them. 

Hyunjin stopped in front of a house by the end of the road, unlike the others it was quiet and seemingly dark inside, its cobblestone decorated with swirling vines. 

He stopped, eyeing it warily. “I should not—If they know I led you here, they _will_ have me killed,” he muttered hesitantly.

The Shadowhunters looked at one another. Yeosang crouched in front of him. “Have you heard of Kim Hongjoong, the High Warlock of Queens?”

Hyunjin nodded his head.

“Go to him. He will know what to do. Tell him Yeosang sent you.”

The vampire opened his mouth, as if to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat. He opted to nod his head once again. “I cannot tell you what will expect you inside, I have not been since that first time, but the Night’s Queen is not someone to mess with.”

“Thank you, Hyunjin,” Mina spoke up, squeezing the boy’s shoulder.

After Yeosang revealed to him where Hongjoong lived, the vampire quietly melted into the shadows, with his inhumanely quick speed he was gone within the blink of an eye.

Not wasting any time and without much preamble, they entered the house. The welcoming hall looked anything _but_ welcoming, dark furniture stood further into the house, old looking and torn carpets covering the wooden floor. Cobwebs hung from the high ceilings. It reminded Seonghwa a lot of their house back in Idris, after his grandfather had died and it had been hard to maintain the house _and_ his father alive and healthy. 

He shuddered at the memories.

“Ol’ Wallie certainly lacks taste,” Yeosang muttered under his breath, running his hand over the walls, plucking out a piece of tapestry that was peeling off the wall. 

“I doubt he has time to consider well decorated houses as a priority,” Mina shot back.

When they reached the hallway, there was a staircase leading upstairs, several closed doors expanding in front of them, they didn’t have much time to explore as suddenly figures jumped out of the shadows. They looked like humans, no markings on them to indicate they were part of the Shadow World, but their strength and growling was anything but human. They were one of Mr Grant’s many experiments. 

_Demonic humans_.

“By the Angel!” Mingi exclaimed, quickly followed by, “ _Anael_.” His seraph blade lit up in the darkness. He managed to slice it through one of the demonic humans, making it screech and falter.

They fought them off valiantly. Thankfully, they weren’t outnumbered, but tumultuous movement from upstairs let them know these weren’t the only experiments in the house.

“You think Hyunjin set us up?” Hwanwoong muttered once they were done with fighting, heaving out a harsh breath, wiping sweat off his forehead.

“I doubt it,” Yeosang replied. “He _did_ warn us.”

Hwanwoong groaned, rolling his shoulders. “Up we go, I suppose.” He glanced at them, waiting for a better idea. No one refused his words, but they all had a mixture of emotions running through their eyes, wondering if this lead was worth it, if they were once again steps behind Mr Grant. But they couldn’t afford giving up either.

With quick steps, they ascended the flight of stairs. Hwanwoong was the first one, opening the closest door. It wasn’t what Seonghwa had expected to find—any of them, going by their momentarily stunned silence.

There was a portal through which the demonic humans were fleeing. Seonghwa moved swiftly, reaching forward to get ahold of one of the experiments so they could at least bring it to the Institute while the others tried to take out as many as possible.

In the chaos, as Yeosang and Mina were surging forward, swinging their blades around, and Hwanwoong and Mingi were trying to reach the portal to stop them, another portal opened not that far from the first one, by the blocked out windows, and through it came Alexander Keaton together with a woman Seonghwa hadn’t seen before yet she seemed familiar. It didn’t take long to realize she was a vampire. 

The Night’s Queen.

Yeosang was quick to react, throwing one of his silver daggers at the woman, but the warlock blocked it out with a spell. 

“ _You_!” The warlock pointed an accusatory finger at Yeosang. “I should have known.”

“Ah, but you did not,” Yeosang shot back, grinning like a madman. Seonghwa couldn’t understand how he was smiling in a situation like this. He turned his mischievous eyes on the woman. “And the Night’s Queen, or known as Cara Grant before your second life.” His grin widened as both the warlock and vampire’s faces morphed into shock. They recovered quickly enough, but Seonghwa was still caught up on Yeosang’s discovery.

“ _What_?!” Mingi choked out, his eyes wide. Hwanwoong and Mina had matching looks of surprise on their faces.

“The Night’s Queen is Mr Grant’s _mother_?” Mina hissed. “How—?” She fell into stunned silence, her mouth agape.

It made sense then, why the vampire lady had looked familiar even if Seonghwa had never seen her. It made sense that Wallace Grant had gotten into the Shadow World, accepted so quickly and pushed towards wealth, all due to a powerful vampire—his own _mother_. He tried not to be too rattled by this revelation, he could think about it later, right now they either needed to capture them or get out of there safely, and it seemed more likely that it would be the second option. They were greatly outnumbered.

Yeosang stepped forward, towards the vampire and the warlock, his head tilted in an arrogant manner, swirling his seraph blade in what Seonghwa supposed was meant to be intimidating. Hwanwoong and Mingi followed him, standing behind him protectively.

“How did you know?” Mrs Grant asked, her voice was deep and monotone. She raised an impressed eyebrow.

“Cara, does that _really_ matter?” Mr Keaton shot back, annoyed. He seemed a lot more fearful of the Shadowhunters than the she did. 

“I am curious,” the vampire reasoned. Her lips curled into a smile as she regarded Yeosang. “Tell me, Nephilim, how did you know?”

“I suspected it from the first time we met. However, it was not until tonight, when I overheard some of your fledglings mention your name, that I got my confirmation,” he revealed, all too pleased with himself.

Mina cursed, still trying to grasp this.

“We should really leave,” Seonghwa hissed.

“You should listen to your friend,” Mrs Grant advised dangerously.

Yeosang turned his head, his eyes meeting Seonghwa’s. The older tried to telepathically tell him that it would be better if they left, that this was a fight they could not win, but he saw the pride in Yeosang’s eyes. He wavered, clutching his seraph blade tightly, and faced the two Downworlders anew.

“We could kill you right now,” Yeosang said.

The Night’s Queen laughed. “That would hardly stop anything.”

Most demonic humans had fled already, but some were staying back, surrounding them. Seonghwa knew that Yeosang _knew_ this wasn’t a smart choice, yet no one moved. Seonghwa cursed under his breath, stepping forward so he could stand by Yeosang’s side.

“This is insane,” he muttered.

“We are so close, Seonghwa. We cannot give up now.”

The tension became suffocating, Seonghwa’s hand was hurting with how tightly he was holding his weapon. They were standing so close to the edge that separated death and life, and they were unable to move. These thoughts were racing through all of their minds.

“Well,” Mrs Grant tutted, “this has been most riveting, but I shall take my leave. I do not have the time to stand around all night.” She bowed her head in a clearly sarcastic way, and she walked back through the portal behind her.

“ _No_!” Yeosang cried out angrily. He sprinted forward, but Alexander Keaton blocked him, closing the portal, and then aiming his magic at Yeosang, making him fly through the air. 

The demonic humans had started moving then, too, closing in on them. Mina and Mingi wasted zero time, fighting them off as they had before. Seonghwa’s feet were moving on their own, kneeling by Yeosang’s body, checking up on him. The younger Shadowhunter let out a groan, heaving himself off the dusty ground. He tried to push Seonghwa off, but his previous wound looked far worse and there were new ones now.

“We have to stop him!” Yeosang rasped out.

“You need to heal!” Seonghwa snapped, getting his stele to draw a quick and messy Healing rune on Yeosang’s arm. “Just let them go, we will get another chance. We have gained valuable information tonight and—”

His words were cut off by a sudden commotion, it was followed by the recognizable sound of a listless body falling to the ground. Mingi cried out in pain. Then, an unbearable silence followed, the demonic humans and the warlock vanished through the last portal as the Shadowhunters stood frozen in shock.

Mingi fell to his knees, his hands on his chest as he stared at his _parabatai_ with eyes torn wide, his mouth moving but no sounds coming out. Mina stood still, paralyzed.

Seonghwa still had one of his hands around Yeosang’s wrist, the other holding his stele, but they slipped off the moment his eyes fell on Hwanwoong’s body. 

It couldn’t be. It _couldn’t_.

But Hwanwoong was laying on the ground, his limbs in a strange formation, his fingers still clutching his seraph blade, his eyes opened wide, unseeing.

“No,” Yeosang whispered, falling forward as if an invisible force had pushed him. He freed himself of Seonghwa’s grasp, and crawled forward until he reached Mingi. Mina moved at the same time, kneeling next to Hwanwoong. 

Seonghwa couldn’t move, too shocked by this turn of events.

“ _No_!” Yeosang’s voice was louder now, torn and filled with sorrow. He was clutching at Mingi desperately, as if he was trying to claw through the pain. Mingi was weeping back and forth on his knees, staring at his _parabatai_. His lips were trembling, his hands shaking. 

Seonghwa slowly moved towards them, not sure what to do. There was nothing for him to do. Death was irreversible.

He placed a hesitant hand on Yeosang’s back, the other on Mingi’s, clutching their gear tightly as he was suddenly so scared they would disappear.

Mina was still by Hwanwoong, shaking his body now as if he was only asleep.

“No, no, no,” she was mumbling under her breath. “Wake up!”

But it was too late.

The walk back to the Institute was the most arduous one in Seonghwa’s life, carrying Hwanwoong’s listless body and the weight of his death on their shoulders made the journey impossibly slow and hard. They had exchanged no words, the silence only occasionally interrupted by someone sniffling.

When they finally crossed the entrance of the Institute, Seonghwa was surprised to find Yunho by the dinner hall, but Seonghwa supposed it was nearing dawn. He immediately raced over to them, a worried look on his face. His eyes zeroed in on Hwanwoong’s body. He stopped, only a few meters from them, as if he had been struck by lightning.

“What happened?” he asked, already sensing what the answer would be.

“Alexander Keaton—killed Hwanwoong,” Seonghwa managed to explain with great difficulty. 

The words caused Mingi to convulse, nearly dropping to the floor.

Yunho rushed over to them, helping them carry Hwanwoong’s body to the dinner hall, towards the back of it, where they lay him down on the floor. They stood in silence, none of them sure how to proceed and process this.

“Where is Mina?” Yunho asked then, fear lacing his words.

“She is fetching Hongjoong,” Seonghwa explained. “We believe his magic is powerful enough to help us track Mr Keaton.”

Yunho nodded, another silence spreading out. “I will get Irene.” He dashed out of the room.

Mingi and Yeosang let themselves fall down, sitting in stiff and uncomfortable looking positions next to their passed friend. Seonghwa didn’t know what to do, so he hurried over to the kitchen to get water and something to eat. Once he was back, Yunho was back with Irene. She had an inconsolable look on her face, hugging Mingi and Yeosang tightly to her chest, as the three of them shed tears.

Seonghwa stood awkwardly by Yunho’s side, unsure if he should stay or leave. 

Yunho turned to him, pulling him aside. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

Seonghwa didn’t know how to answer that question.

He hadn’t been that close to Hwanwoong, but seeing him die had been scarring. Shadowhunters had to make friends with death from a young age, as it was part of their lives, a risk they had to take on to protect the world, but it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t easy the first time, the second time, or the tenth time; and ever since his arrival at the International Institute of New York there had been a lot of it. Seonghwa had pushed it back, focusing on pleasing his father, then fighting with his father and slowly turning his back on him, trying to solve this case. 

He hadn’t had time to really sit down and process the many deaths they had caused and suffered already.

Yunho’s genuine concern, as well as his familiar and warm hand on Seonghwa’s shoulder, made him break down. He fell into his friend’s arms, silently crying as the image of Hwanwoong’s body hitting the ground replayed in his mind. Yunho’s arms tightened around his shoulders.

Miss Anne hesitantly approached them, her cheeks stained with tears too. She shuffled until she stood right over Irene.

“Breakfast will be served soon. Unless you want the entire Institute to know of this, you must leave now,” she spoke carefully and softly. Her eyes anywhere but Hwanwoong’s body.

Irene sniffled, breaking free of her embrace. She passed her arm over her eyes and nose ungracefully. She nodded her head. 

“Thank you.” She got up, gently pulling at Yeosang and Mingi’s sleeves. “Help me carry his body to my study. He will be safe there for now—until we know what to do next. If Mr Park discovers this…” she trailed off, warily eyeing Seonghwa.

“I will _not_ tell my father,” he reassured her. 

“Perhaps you could get an infirmary bed,” Irene said.

“Of course.” 

Seonghwa and Yunho left the dinner hall with hurried steps as the others carried Hwanwoong out of there. Miss Anne stayed behind, already fetching a mop to clear the space of any traces.

Once inside the nursery, Yunho stopped Seonghwa by his elbow.

“Sorry for insisting, but how are you feeling?”

“It hardly matters right now.” Seonghwa brushed him off.

“It does!”

“I will have enough time to think about it once I go to bed. Right now, we must get a bed and head back before anyone notices,” he nearly shouted. He was feeling on edge. He knew how much his father liked to creep around the corridors, catching conversations that weren’t meant for him, having spies everywhere. “We do not want to accidentally bump into my father,” he added, knowing this would get Yunho to move.

“You are right.”

They managed to get one of the beds to Irene’s study undetected. To their relief, Mina was back with the High Warlock in tow. Yunho rushed forward to hug his _parabatai_. Her hair smelled of the fresh night. 

“Oh, thank the Angel!”

When her eyes fell onto Hwanwoong’s body, her lips trembled.

“I had hoped that was a nightmare,” she muttered, letting herself fall into one of the seats.

“Hongjoong if you may,” Irene started, gesturing at the dead body. She still looked undone and her eyes were rimmed with red, but her voice was clear and firm. “Perhaps you are able to track down Mr Keaton’s magic.”

Hongjoong nodded, curtly, and stepped forward. 

Hwanwoong’s body was tucked away on the infirmary bed, Hongjoong had his hand hovering over it, his eyes closed, as he tracked down Alexander Keaton’s location. They hoped that Hongjoong’s magic would be powerful enough to find the other warlock, and pierce through whatever protective wards might be up at the place of his hiding.

“He is still in New York City,” Hongjoong revealed, opening his eyes. He lowered his hand. “A mansion in Staten Island, by the docks of the Lower Bay. I have been there once, years ago.”

“We shall head out tomorrow morning in search of him—” Irene said decidedly.

“We cannot sit around here and mourn!” Yeosang exploded, interrupting her, and stood up from the couch. Mingi was still seated, his legs jiggling incessantly, even with Yunho’s soothing hand on his knee. “This cannot—”

“Yeo,” Irene said, tiredly. “I know you are in great pain. I want to avenge Hwanwoong’s death just as much, but you have been out all night. You are tired, you are grieving. You are not in the right shape and state of mind to take this on. _Please_ rest for tonight.”

“I can mix potions that will help you with a dreamless sleep,” Hongjoong spoke up gravely. He was watching them sorrowfully.

Yeosang let himself fall back onto the couch, his knee bumping into Mingi’s, who looked up then, for the first time seemingly _present_ after his _parabatai_ had died.

“Yeosang,” he said, as if it was just them in the room. “Please listen to Irene.”

Yeosang fisted his hands into the fabric of his pants, breathing in and out loudly, he nodded his head, not looking up. He wanted to scream from the top of his lungs, he wanted to curl up into a ball and stay on the ground forever.

“I shall prepare those potions,” Hongjoong declared, standing up. He opened up a portal in Irene’s study and vanished through it. 

The silence in the room was drowning, reaching out from each corner of the room. Yeosang couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t want to draw attention to him. He had lost a dear friend, but Mingi had lost his _parabatai_ , that pain was incomparable to anything he might be feeling, he couldn’t even begin to imagine it. But he wasn’t sure how to comfort Mingi either.

Irene walked over to them, standing in front of the couch Yeosang, Mingi, and Yunho were seated on.

“I know this is hard,” she began speaking. “Believe me, I know.” Her voice trembled, and Yeosang remembered her brother’s acts and the pain he had caused Irene. “But you must get up and change out of your gear. I have already asked Miss Anne and Miss Julianna to prepare baths for you and fresh clothes. Miss López will have food delivered to your rooms soon so you do not have to join for breakfast. I understand that you must want to be alone.”

Her words were spoken so softly and genuinely, they broke the trance the young Shadowhunters were in. Yunho was the first one to get up, pulling Mingi with him. They walked out quietly. Mina followed them. She hesitated for a moment, glancing at Seonghwa, but he was still unmoving in his seat.

“Yeosang,” Irene called out softly, but got no response. She put a hand on his shoulder. “Seonghwa, may you help?”

Seonghwa looked at her, then at Yeosang. He nodded his head, getting up. The way he moved was slow and uncoordinated, as if he wasn’t quite in his own body.

“It is my fault,” Yeosang suddenly spoke. “We should have left, but I-I was so selfish. I was so convinced we could…” he broke off, faltering. Irene and Seonghwa helped him up. 

“It is _not_ your fault, Yeosang,” Seonghwa told him. “ _It_ _is not_ ,” he repeated for good measure, his arms firm around Yeosang’s frame.

“Can you escort him to his room?” Irene asked softly. “I need to see how we should proceed as well as write a letter to Hwanwoong’s mother. I am not sure how to explain this. You were not even supposed to leave, this is entirely my fault—”

“ _Irene_ ,” Seonghwa interrupted her, sharper than he had intended. “It is not your fault either. Mr Keaton was the one that killed him, he is the only one at fault.”

Irene took in a deep breath, her shoulders shaking. Seonghwa could see the tears swimming in her eyes, but they did not fall. She nodded her head, curtly, and marched over to her desk.

“Thank you, Seonghwa,” she said before he left the study. “I know it must not be easy with your father. I appreciate that you are helping us.”

“It is the right thing,” he said as he exited.

With much difficulty, Seonghwa carried Yeosang to his room. The younger Shadowhunter walked with dragged feet, his weight heavy on Seonghwa’s shoulders. When they got to Yeosang’s chamber, Seonghwa struggled to open the door without dropping Yeosang.

“Can you stand up on your own?”

Yeosang blinked, his head turning to look at Seonghwa. For a moment, his eyes were unseeing, but then he stiffened, detaching himself from Seonghwa. 

“Yes,” came his late reply.

Seonghwa opened the door, holding it so that Yeosang could walk through. The younger Shadowhunter stopped in front of the bathtub, dropping to his knees. Seonghwa rushed in, letting the door fall shut behind him.

“Are you all right?” he asked. It was a stupid question considering everything, but it had slipped out.

“No.” Yeosang held tightly onto the rim of the tub. “Can you help me?”

“Help you…?” Seonghwa echoed, mildly embarrassed. But when he took in Yeosang’s disarrayed state, he pushed that embarrassment aside and helped him undress until he was only in his undergarments.

Yeosang held onto Seonghwa’s shoulder as he climbed inside the bathtub, he flinched when his skin came in contact with the hot water, but he lowered himself into it until only his shoulders, head, and bent knees were above the surface. Without words Seonghwa seated himself behind Yeosang, grabbing the sponge on the tray next to the tub, gently running it over Yeosang’s neck and shoulders.

It was an incredibly intimate ordeal, but they weren’t in the spectrum of what was normal. The death of Hwanwoong had placed them in a strange limbo of reality, so for that night—or dawn, really—Seonghwa allowed himself to take care of Yeosang.

The younger Shadowhunter didn’t speak, but he obeyed Seonghwa’s instructions, letting him clean his skin of all the sweat, blood, and dirt. When it was turn to wash his hair, Seonghwa ran his fingers through it, surprised at its softness, letting it loose of the lace holding it together. 

He saw that Yeosang had his eyes closed, tears trailing down his cheeks. Seonghwa didn’t say anything, but he did gently massage his head, hoping it would ease some of that pressure and stress and hurt.

“Why are you doing this?” Yeosang asked after a while, his voice was a bare whisper.

“I cannot answer that,” Seonghwa responded honestly. Suddenly aware of what he was doing, he remembered their kiss with bright clarity. The urge to pull away was strong, but he didn’t. He stayed. “You are in pain. I am merely taking care of you.”

“But you hate me; why would you take care of me?”

“I do not know, Yeosang. I really do not.” He dropped his hands, awkwardly letting them rest in his lap.

Yeosang turned his head around, to stare at him. His eyes were flitting back and forth, searching and searching. Seonghwa let him look for whatever it was, too tired and worn to put all his heavy walls up. 

Maybe Mina had been right, maybe they weren’t so different; maybe Seonghwa had been wrong and Yeosang wasn’t so bad.

“Who is going to take care of you?” Yeosang whispered, surprising Seonghwa.

He felt his heart stop, then leap, and clenched his hands. 

He looked down, terrified of the hurt in his eyes that would be so visible now. 

“I can take care of myself,” he assured Yeosang.

“I do not doubt that, but this is not a situation like any. Someone should be there to take care of you,” he insisted, quietly and softly; it made Seonghwa’s heart ache badly. “And we both know your father will not be there to do that.”

“I do not need someone to take care of me.”

The sound of water splashing made Seonghwa look up. Yeosang was turning around so he could face him. 

He looked striking in the dim lights, water drops glistening on his skin, his wet hair sticking to his skin, a loose strand snaking around his cheek. His dark brown eyes—which Seonghwa was so used to seeing careless and haughty, unsympathetic towards him—were filled with so much concern, it was staggering. 

He nearly fell back at the force that shuddered through him.

Yeosang reached out one of his soaked hands, letting it rest on Seonghwa’s cheek.

“You should let someone take care of you.”

Seonghwa almost gave in.

“ _No_ ,” he rasped out, his throat felt dry and tight, tears hot in his eyes. 

He stood up abruptly, Yeosang’s hand falling from his face. He rushed out of the room before he could make the decision to stay. It was too much. He heard water splashing as Yeosang readjusted himself in the bathtub.

He sprinted towards his own room, but his heart and mind stayed in Yeosang’s chamber.

**~*~**

**New York, November 12th 1899**

It was late noon when the young Shadowhunters found the strength to meet with Irene and Hongjoong in Irene’s study. To their surprise Hyunjin was present as well, he looked small and terrified, clinging to the High Warlock.

Mingi looked pale and his eyes were red rimmed. Yeosang and Yunho stood by his side, silently, comforting and there if he needed. Seonghwa was at a distance, together with Mina and Jinsoul. The atmosphere was heavy and tense, none of them really dared to speak. 

(If they didn’t acknowledge it, it made Hwanwoong’s death less real, but if they didn’t acknowledge it his murderer would get away.)

Hongjoong was the one to break the silence. “Hyunjin told me he would like to help you. He feels terrible for sending you into that house full of demonic humans. He has not been at the mansion in Staten Island, but he might be of help. It is Cara Grant’s personal mansion, where her most loyal vampires reside together with her.” He placed a reassuring hand on the young vampire’s shoulder. “Seoho will be there. The Night’s Queen still does not know that he is a spy.”

“That is good,” Yunho mumbled. He looked at Hyunjin. “We greatly appreciate your help, Hyunjin.”

“We should head out right now. The longer we wait…” Yeosang began, but trailed off, failing to find his words.

“I will directly open a portal near the mansion. I cannot come with you. I cannot have Mr Keaton know I am working with you. He might still trust me, we cannot lose that,” the warlock explained.

The young Shadowhunters nodded their heads in agreement.

Irene stepped forward, worriedly eyeing Mingi. “Are you certain you want to go? The pain you must be feeling… It would probably be for the best if you stay here.”

But Mingi shook his head. “No, I want to be the one to capture him. If I stay here I will just feel guilty I am not with them, I will just think of his death over and over again,” he said decidedly.

Irene nodded. “But please—be careful.” She looked at each of their faces. “All of you, be careful.”

“There is something you should take with you,” Hongjoong spoke up, taking something out of his jacket’s inner pocket. It was a small flask filled with a reddish liquid. “This is rowan—or mountain-ash. It weakens a warlock,” he explained at the confused stares he received. “Coat your weapons with it. It will help you debilitate Mr Keaton.”

Yunho took the flask, pocketing it. “Thank you.”

With a snap of his fingers, Hongjoong opened up a portal. “I wish you the best of luck.”

All geared up the Shadowhunters and Hyunjin walked through the portal. Once they were gone, Irene let herself fall down on her chair, a long and heavy sigh escaping her lips. Hongjoong carefully sat at the edge of the table, placing a hand on her shoulders. She was far too young to be dealing with this—all of them were too young.

“Have you spoken with Mr Park yet?” he wondered.

“No. I am not sure how to explain any of this. They were not meant to go out. This could badly fall back on them, but if I were to defend them, I could lose my position as the Head of the Institute… I do not know what to do,” she lamented, burying her head into her hands.

“I shall stay here and help you with this. You cannot lose the Institute, you are far too valuable. These boys—especially Yeosang—need you.”

“I know,” she whispered. “Thank you, Hongjoong. You have been such an amazing help, I do not know how to ever repay you.”

“We are _friends_ , Irene. Allies. There is no need to repay me,” the warlock reassured her, smiling faintly at her relieved sigh.

“Thank you,” she repeated. 

Far from the International Institute of New York, six Shadowhunters and a vampire appeared out of thin air, stumbling over concrete as they situated themselves. The afternoon sun was hidden behind a thin layer of clouds, its last rays taken away from the day. Yeosang supposed it wasn’t so bad if it started raining, fairly appropriate.

The nearby sound of water hitting the docks, ships creaking in agony as wind had blown up from the Atlantic all day long, and the familiar cacophony of horses dragging a carriage and loud merchant chatter carried through the air.

“I believe her mansion is this way,” said Hyunjin, pointing his index finger up the alley. “Seoho gave me a detailed explanation.”

“Lead the way.”

The mansion was situated at the corner of a crossroad, behind it, in a straight line, expanded the Lower Bay, nearly a black and vast desert as the sky was growing darker and darker. The Night’s Queen had a taste for illegal flowers and plants as her garden was filled with flora that Yeosang knew the Council would be greatly interested to see. The mansion was made out of dark cobblestone, thick curtains covering the many windows—he wondered why she had gotten a place with so many windows as a vampire. It looked fitting for a Child of the Night, giving off an eerie feeling. Unlike Mr Keaton’s mansion, there were no sculptures in her garden. Yeosang noted that the Grant’s taste was extremely bland and mundane.

Before they entered the mansion, they made sure to coat their seraph blades with the rowan Hongjoong had gifted them, leaving a small quantity in the flask. 

“Ready?” Hyunjin asked them. He looked less nervous, more assured.

“ _Yes_ ,” Mingi answered, his voice fierce and deep.

Hyunjin broke the gate’s lock, holding it open for them. He took one of Yeosang’s silver daggers without asking and rushed forward to the subjugate that was opening the front door. He stabbed the man, covering his mouth so that his groan wouldn’t be too loud.

“Come in,” he hissed.

“That was… surprising,” Mina muttered, impressed.

Hyunjin grinned. “Thank you.”

There were approximately ten vampires lingering around in the welcoming hall and living room. They didn’t appear to be those of Wallace Grant’s experiments. Yeosang spotted Seoho in between them, an impressively impassive look on his face, as if he did not know them.

“What in God’s—” one of the vampires tried to protest, choking on God’s word. “How did they get here?!”

“She said we would be safe here,” another one bemoaned, sprinting up the stairs.

“Take them out!” a third one ordered.

The vampires ambushed them at once, including Seoho, who jumped onto Hyunjin, pretending to fight him.

“Why cannot ever something go our way?” Yeosang complained, fighting them off.

“That would be too easy,” came a familiar voice. The Night’s Queen walked down the stairs. She smiled welcomingly at them. Alexander Keaton was covering behind her. “Halt!” she commanded, the vampires stopped attacking them, jumping back to safety. Some hissed at them though.

Her eyes roamed over them, she jerked her chin in Mingi’s direction. “Take him.” Three vampires surged forward, surprising Mingi and knocking him out. His seraph blade skittered across the tiles. Before any of the Shadowhunters could react, Mrs Grant barked out another order, “Stick to the plan! We will take care of the rest.”

The vampires disappeared, taking Mingi with them.

“No!” Yeosang growled, unlatching a silver dagger from his belt and throwing it at Cara Grant, taking her by surprise. It landed in her chest, making her stumble forward. She fell down the flight of stairs, getting up with difficulty. She threw Yeosang a poisonous look.

“Cara!” Mr Keaton jogged towards her, taken aback, but he didn’t reach her.

With the coated seraph blade, Seonghwa came up behind Keaton, slicing his back open with it. The warlock let out a surprised gasp, falling to the ground, his eyes closing in pain.

Mrs Grant growled, but there was a sliver of fear in her eyes. Yeosang used the distraction to shove another silver dagger into her, efficiently taking her out of action. She was far too powerful to be completely out of it though. She merely collapsed onto the floor.

Yunho quickly put the flask of rowan to Mr Keaton’s lips, making him drink every last bit of it so he wouldn’t be able to use his magic anew for a long, long time. Then he tied the warlock’s hands behind his back. With Mr Keaton unconscious, Seonghwa and Yunho holding him tightly, and Cara Grant slowly weakening and growing sick due to the silver daggers in her abdomen and chest, Jinsoul and Mina seizing her up, it seemed like a victory.

But it felt like a victory too soon. 

Yeosang walked up to the Night’s Queen. “Where is Mingi?” he asked.

She laughed. “If you kill me you shall never know.”

“ _Where is he_?” he repeated in a low voice, holding the stake to her chest. “You are in no position to be threatening us.”

“Oh, I am not. This is a bargain. I admit I did not see this,” she waved her hand at her and Mr Keaton’s indisposed states, “coming, which is why I _had_ to take him as a leverage. Let me free and you get your abnormally tall friend back.”

Yeosang’s fingers twitched, the need and wish to end her life right then was strong. “First I need to see that he is okay. That you did not do something to him.”

The Night’s Queen rolled her eyes. “ _Fine_ ,” she drawled, utterly bored. “Bring the Nephilim back,” she spoke. The same three vampires walked in again, holding a half unconscious Mingi in their arms. He seemed to be mostly unharmed, but there was blood smeared over his lips— _vampire blood_ , Yeosang realized, a shiver running through him.

He glared at Mrs Grant. “Let him go.”

The Night’s Queen only smiled. “First let me go,” she demanded.

“ _Yeosang_ ,” Yunho begged. “Listen to her.”

Yeosang lowered the wooden stake. “How do I know you will not run away and take him with you?”

“You will have to trust me.” She grinned evilly, aware that even in her detained position she still had the power. “You already lost a friend the night before; do you really want to lose another one?”

The easy answer was ‘no’. Yeosang did not want to lose his other best friend, the person he had grown up with that was like a brother to him. The pain of Hwanwoong’s loss was still so recent that this didn’t even feel real, but he knew it was. If he were to lose Mingi, too, he couldn’t tell what kind of person he’d become.

But this dilemma wasn’t that simple. They had both Alexander Keaton and the Night’s Queen in their grasps—two of Wallace Grant’s strongest allies—they couldn’t just _let them go_. If they did, these murders would never stop, all of their efforts would have been in vain; Hwanwoong’s death would have been in vain.

Yeosang’s couldn’t just let her go.

(And if that was vampire blood smeared around Mingi’s mouth, there was a chance that death wouldn’t be his last and only outcome if he died.)

Yeosang swallowed, holding the wooden stake tightly to prevent his hands from shaking too much.

The Night’s Queen seemed to see the answer in his eyes for her gaze turned cold. “Take him away,” she hissed, challengingly holding Yeosang’s enraged gaze. 

_I am sorry, Mingi_ , Yeosang thought, his mind screaming at him. He wanted to do nothing more than to collapse on the ground and never get up.

Mingi let out one last short gasp before the three vampires sprung into action. They rushed towards the balcony on the first floor and out into the night, taking the Shadowhunter with them. 

“ _No_!” Yunho cried, looking down at the unconscious warlock in his grip. He cursed loudly. 

Without much preamble, Yeosang surged forward and buried the wooden stake deep into Cara Grant’s chest. She wailed, convulsing. Mina and Jinsoul had to let her go, but even if the Night’s Queen tried to escape, she couldn’t outrun her certain death. She collapsed meters from them, her listless body causing a loud clamor. 

Many vampires fled the scene, a few others stayed to kneel by her corpse—out of duty or something else. Seoho was in between them, eyeing her corpse. He flashed his teeth, dangerously, at those that had stayed.

“Let the Children of the Night know that the Night’s Queen is dead,” he spoke firmly. “Let them know, those that are loyal to her, will face consequences.”

One of the vampires stepped forward angrily. “You will never grow as big as her!” 

Seoho took the wooden stake out and killed the vampire. He dared the others to speak up. “Her time _has come to an end_. I know many of you did not agree with her, did act under her spell, were forced to act out of fear. I promise you, if you side with me— _us_ ,” he gestured at the Shadowhunters, “you will not be pushed to do her gruesome bidding. There is a future for those that decided to change loyalties!”

“Mina. Jinsoul,” Yunho called out, his voice sharp. They quickly jogged over to him, leaving Seoho to deal with the vampires and vampire politics. Seonghwa knew Yunho was a cool headed person, even in situations of great peril, but it was staggering to see how calculated and even his voice was. His eyes were cold and unseeing. “Take him to the Institute with Seonghwa,” he said, handing them the warlock. “I’ll try to chase down those vampires. Hyunjin?” He glanced at the young vampire. “Can you track Mingi?”

Hyunjin nodded. “I think so.”

Yunho marched over to Yeosang, taking hold of his arm, shaking him out of his stupor. “Come with me. We are getting Mingi back.”

“Yes,” Yeosang agreed slowly. He was staring at Cara Grant with a blank look on his face, like he couldn’t quite understand he had done that. 

“If we are not back by midnight, ” Yunho started, facing his friends, “come looking for us.”

Seonghwa nodded his head, dread filling him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(  
> :O


	11. Nephilim For Warlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know it was not an easy choice, and Mingi might resent you, but you did the right thing.”
> 
> “I am doing the selfish thing.”
> 
> “Sometimes the selfish thing is the right one too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: there will be a temporary death in this chapter im sorry 😭

**New York, November 12th 1899**

The night was cold: an icy wind sweeping up the streets. The events were still fresh in their minds, it felt surreal that the Night Queen was dead and that Alexander Keaton was in their possession.

They stood by the crossroad, waiting for Hongjoong. Seoho had gone ahead to fetch the High Warlock from the Institute so he could portal them back instead of walking the entire way with Mr Keaton’s unconscious body. It was far too dangerous. After Cara Grant’s death, they expected Mr Grant to strike soon. 

“Do you believe they ought to find him?” Seonghwa wondered worriedly.

“I believe Hyunjin will find him, but wherever they took him…” Mina trailed off. “I imagine it will be dangerous.”

“May the Angel aid them,” Jinsoul muttered. “I cannot—I refuse to lose Yunho too.”

“I think they will be sensible. If they are outnumbered, they will not waltz in,” Mina said. “Yunho will know how to hold Yeosang back.”

“And who will hold Yunho back?” Jinsoul asked no one in particular. “You know how much he has come to care for Mingi.”

“We must trust him— _them_ ,” Seonghwa said. “They will not walk into their deaths.”

But even as those words left his mouth, he couldn’t help the hurt in his heart as he thought of Yeosang. Yeosang who had lost two of the closest people to him in the span of a day. Seonghwa couldn’t imagine what that soul-crushing pain must feel like. For a split second, he thought that he would like to hold Yeosang close, take the pain within him away, and shelter him of this cruel world.

The moment passed quickly, leaving Seonghwa with a strange sensation burning in his heart.

Suddenly, the air in front of them parted and a sugary scent filled their nostrils. Out of the portal came Hongjoong and Seoho. The former looked worried as he noticed the lack of four very important people.

“Where are the others? What happened to them?” he asked, glancing around. For a moment, his eyes flashed, his warlock Mark showing, and they looked like the sea: a turbulent, sad sea in the middle of a storm. He titled his head at the Shadowhunters, expecting an answer.

“Sorry, I failed to tell him what happened. I believed it was most important to get him here immediately,” Seoho apologized.

“Mingi was taken by vampires,” Mina responded nervously. She was on edge, both her _parabatai_ and cousin gone. And with their recent losses, she feared that she might not seem them again. “Yeosang and Yunho are tracking him down with the help of Hyunjin.”

“Goodness,” Hongjoong muttered, affronted. One of his ring covered hands came up to his chest. He glanced at Seoho, urgently and meaningfully.

Seoho nodded his head in understanding.

They weren’t _parabatai_ , of course they weren’t, and yet they had a bond, a secret and invisible understanding. Seonghwa felt a jolt go through him, something that tasted a bit bitter and like envy. He didn’t have something like it, never thought he would need it, and now he yearned for it. Perhaps even beyond the _parabatai_ bond, though he did not believe such a thing existed for Shadowhunters.

“Take Mr Keaton to the Institute and deliver the news. I will search for them, make sure they will not get into trouble,” the vampire spoke, nodding his head at the young Shadowhunters as a goodbye, and then disappeared into the night.

With a spell, Hongjoong made Mr Keaton’s body levitate above the ground.

“Let us go before we draw attention on us.” He motioned at the Shadowhunters to take the portal, then took hold of the unconscious body before he walked through it himself.

Irene rushed towards them the moment they arrived in her study, her eyes wide and her usually impeccable hair in a mess.

“Oh, thank the Angel,” she whispered in relief, immediately taking each of the young Shadowhunters into her arms, hugging them tightly. 

Seonghwa shivered, the warmth so unusual to him.

“Where are the others?” Irene asked once Hongjoong came through and the portal closed behind him.

“The vampires took Mingi,” Mina explained. “Yeosang, Yunho, and Hyunjin are tracking him down to get him back.”

Irene’s lips quivered, but she kept her cool, clearing the nursery bed where Hwanwoong had lied on so they could place Mr Keaton’s unconscious body on it. Brother Akoni had come to pick Hwanwoong’s body up to prepare him for a funeral. She greatly hoped that Mingi would come back alive; the others too. She wasn’t sure she could handle any more losses.

Not her boys, not anyone.

“Can you wake him up?” she inquired, glancing at Hongjoong.

The High Warlock nodded his head. “I could, but I would have to get some herbs and brew a potion.”

“You do that then,” Irene said. Hongjoong nodded his head, opening another portal through which he vanished.

Irene looked at Seonghwa, Jinsoul, and Mina. “You should rest. This was more than exhausting. I will let you know once Hongjoong is back and we have woken Mr Keaton up—or once the others have returned.”

Mina nodded her head, gently tugging Jinsoul with her. 

Seonghwa hesitated. “I should speak to my father. He will grow suspicious if I avoid him.”

Irene parted her lips, startled. “You will not tell him the truth, will you?”

He shook his head. “No. Not anymore.”

Without another word, Seonghwa left the study. Once he was alone, he leaned against the cool, stone walls of the Institute, breathing in and out evenly as he came down from the hectic and eventful evening. The images flooded his mind, everything distorted and in heightened colors, as if it was an incredibly realistic dream. 

He saw Hwanwoong’s body hit the ground, his life already gone from his eyes; he saw the countless of corpses of the vampires and demonic humans they had fought off, who once had been simple mundanes with lives and loved ones, with dreams and plans, all ripped out of their hands by Wallace Grant. _By them_. He saw Hyunjin’s terrified eyes, just a little kid, already dealing with so much pain and sorrow. Pictures of Mingi getting dragged away by the vampires, Yeosang and Yunho’s terrified cries following.

Seonghwa visibly saw Yeosang’s face, from his heartbroken features to the way he had looked in the moonlight after they had kissed. There was so much of him in Seonghwa’s mind, as if he had lost him too. He wouldn’t be the same once he came back, with or without Mingi.

But Seonghwa wasn’t the same either.

Before he could get lost in his thoughts, he pushed himself off the wall and marched towards the staircase, up to his father’s private chamber.

Once he stood in front of it, he hesitated.

With much intent he studied the wood cravings in the door, the vertical lines and the cracks, the abuse the door had lived through over the years. Seonghwa wasn’t sure how old the International Institute of New York was—two, three hundred years? He could get lost staring at it, searching for any reason not to knock on his father’s door and walk in. Because this time, Seonghwa was going to _lie_ to his face, he was going to ruin whatever threads were left of their bond and, although that was something he was very adamant about doing, it terrified him to no end.

With a heavy sigh, one that didn’t quite reach his lungs and pained his chest, he knocked on the door.

“Come in,” came Jinhyuk’s muffled response. His voice strained.

Seonghwa turned the knob, crossing through. He found his father by the far end of the room, slouched in one of the seats, a glass of whisky in one hand. He looked tired and worn out, heavy bags underneath his eyes, his skin pale. 

Seonghwa bit his lip, worriedly approaching him.

“Father?” he called out, crouching in front of the seat so he could peer into his father’s face. “Are you okay?”

“Son?” Jinhyuk blinked, his eyes crossed. He closed them for a moment, readjusting himself in his seat. Blindly, he handed Seonghwa his drink. “What—For what reason have you come to seek me out? I am incredibly tired, if this is not of importance I should ask you to leave.”

“It is about Yeo—About Mr Kang,” he said. “After much following him around and research, it does not appear to be that he is up to anything out of the ordinary. None of them are.” The words rushed, tumbled out of his mouth, like a river after a heavy rain. If he did not speak them now, if he did not lie now, he never would.

He swallowed, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue, as much as it tasted of freedom and rebellion, and of betrayal. Especially seeing Jinhyuk so down, similar to how he had looked after his grandfather’s death. It made it so much harder.

“They go on patrols, securing the streets of New York, but they have not tried to go against your orders. Neither has Miss Bae,” he continued.

Jinhyuk’s head fell back, resting against the seat. He was staring at Seonghwa for a long time, a blank look on his face, but Seonghwa knew better. It was calculative. But perhaps Jinhyuk really was in a bad state because he did not detect Seonghwa’s lie, he simply gave a curt nod.

“I suppose those are good news. I was afraid they would act under the covers of the night.”

“They have not. After that Downworlder’s Ball they have not tried anything again. I can assure you,” Seonghwa spoke, feeling more confident as well was guilty. It was strange feeling these very contradicting emotions and thoughts fight in his mind. He bit the inside of his cheek, another lie rolling over his tongue, “I wanted to apologize again, for sneaking out that night, and for—I was not in the right state of mind. I am sorry, father.”

Jinhyuk lightly shook his head, his hand coming up to squeeze Seonghwa’s shoulder. The touch felt so heavy and Seonghwa wanted to shake him off, but he refrained from doing so. His stomach did twist and turn, though, an acidic feeling rising up his throat.

“I shall leave you alone then. You do not look so well,” Seonghwa said, bowing his head as he retreated.

“Seonghwa,” Jinhyuk called out in a strange, quiet voice. “Seonghwa,” he repeated. “Do not forget you are my only son. We have not spoken about this much, but one day I would like for you to find a woman and marry her, and carry my legacy on.”

Seonghwa clutched the door tightly. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

Jinhyuk breathed in and out evenly, as if it was difficult for him. He opened his mouth, the words ready to spill out, but then he shook his head. “I just wanted to remind you. Go on. I need to rest.”

Seonghwa walked out of the room, his shoulders tense, a headache forming between his brows. It wasn’t anything unusual, except that now he took notice of these small effects his father had on him, these ruining damages he left on Seonghwa’s body and mind with his words and actions. 

There was nothing for him to do as they were all waiting for Yunho, Hyunjin, and Yeosang to return safely, hopefully with Mingi and information. He wished Hongjoong would soon manage to wake Mr Keaton up from his unconscious state so they could interrogate him, at least then he would have something to do, feel less useless as he did in that moment.

He decided to seek out his friends, marching over to Jinsoul’s room. Perhaps they could all sit down for some tea and scones and fall into comfortable conversation and forget the horrors that plagued them for a few hours.

When he got to Jinsoul’s room, he opened it without knocking, which turned out to be a mistake as he caught a glimpse of Jinsoul and Mina hugging one another closely, their lips entangled in a tender and loving kiss. He quickly closed the door, quietly so he wouldn’t disturb them.

He smiled faintly, knowing that Mina had been in love with Jinsoul for a very long time. It was reassuring to know, that in between all the darkness surrounding them, there was still a place for love.

With a sigh, he walked down stairs to Irene’s study.

The Head of the Institute was seated at her desk, holding what seemed to be an old photograph in her hands, her eyes teary. She looked up startled when she took notice of Seonghwa’s presence.

“Oh? Sorry,” she apologized, wiping the tears away. “How did the talk with your father go?”

Seonghwa took the seat in front of her desk. “I had to lie to him.”

“I apologize that—”

“It is okay,” he cut her off. The words would leave a trail of emotions over his skin, emotions he was not ready to deal with in that moment. “I should have done it a long time ago. Yunho was right all these years. And he has been behaving strangely ever since we came here.”

Irene perked up at that, storing the photograph away. Seonghwa caught a glimpse of it: it depicted a younger looking Irene standing next to a man; her brother he assumed.

“How so?” she asked.

“I think he might be hiding something from me. I find it very odd of him to act so slowly. Usually, he would move Hell and Heaven to catch the culprit, but it feels as though he has been slowing it down. It makes me wonder if perhaps—No.” He was terrified of even speaking this thought out loud.

“If perhaps what?” Irene questioned. “You can talk freely here, Seonghwa.”

“I have been wondering if perhaps he is involved with Mr Grant.” Irene looked down, not looking surprised or shocked by the revelation. “Do you know something?”

“No.” She shook her head. “But I have wondered the same thing.”

Seonghwa laughed hollowly. “What if he is?”

“I am not sure.” Irene bent down to open the cabinet underneath her desk, pulling out two glasses and a bottle of wine. “I will not lie, Seonghwa, but it will not look good for your family if he is.”

“I know.” Seonghwa accepted the glass she handed him. “I should keep an eye on him.”

“You are not alone. I shall keep an eye on him too.”

They sat in silence for a moment, drinking their wine silently. 

“Was that your brother?” Seonghwa asked then. “The man in the picture?”

Irene nodded her head. “You know, the more I am learning of Mr Grant’s experiments, I believe Hajoon might have been part of it. Whether actively or by accident, I am not sure. But his descent into madness, and that killing spree he went on, it was very unlike him.”

“That is awful.”

Irene didn’t speak again, a broken look on her face.

Thankfully, the loaded atmosphere in the study was interrupted by Yeosang and Yunho barging in, flopping down on the couch without a word.

They look angry and dejected.

Seonghwa took notice that neither of them were harmed, at least not more than they had been when Seonghwa, Mina, and Jinsoul had left them. It relieved him a little, the knots and the twisted pain in his shoulders easing as they sagged.

“We could not find him,” Yunho murmured when Yeosang didn’t speak. “We searched and searched. Hyunjin could not track him down.”

“How do you feel?” Seonghwa asked, getting up to approach them. He stood awkwardly in front of them. 

“How do you _think_ we feel?!” Yeosang snapped, his arms crossed in front of his chest. 

Seonghwa pressed his lips together, deciding not to enable Yeosang’s frustration. It wouldn’t lead them anywhere. 

“I hardly think they will harm Mingi. After all, we have Mr Keaton. They should know, if they harm him we will harm Mr Keaton,” Irene spoke up softly. She held a wary look as she eyed Yeosang, as if he was a frightened and hurt kitten. She glanced at Yunho and Seonghwa. “Could you perhaps leave us alone?”

“Of course.” Yunho immediately sprung up from the sofa. He held onto Seonghwa and dragged him out of there.

**~*~**

**New York, November 13th 1899**

The news about Hwanwoong’s passing spread like wildfire during breakfast, many rumors about his exact death were roaming the tables. Yeosang sat quietly, the absence of Mingi extremely noticeable—many of the Shadowhunters linked it to the death of his _parabatai_. It gave them a window to get Mingi back from those vampires without arising questions.

They would have all the time after breakfast to hatch out a plan, since Jinhyuk was leaving the Institute with a couple of his closest Shadowhunters, to check out the vampire den they had found Hyunjin in. Another group of Shadowhunters was sent out to search for a mansion that supposedly belonged to Wallace Grant, outside of New York City, but it was just a loose rumor that a Shadowhunter from Thailand had picked up after questioning a trusted faerie of his. 

However, breakfast was cut short when Irene entered the dinner hall, her hair all frizzled, as if she had come from outside, where it was raining heavily. She marched over to the young Shadowhunters, leaning over so only they would hear her.

“I have received a letter just now. A boy delivered it to me,” she whispered. “It comes from none other than Wallace Grant.”

Yeosang choked on his orange juice, coughing. Yunho patted his back softly.

“What does it say?” Mina asked, eyes wide. “Is it about his mother?”

“No.” Irene shook her head. “Although, I am sure by now he knows she is dead, and that it was us.”

“Is it about Mingi?” Yeosang asked, in a weak voice.

“Yes.” The look in her eyes wasn’t too disheartened, a shimmer of hope glinting in them, so Yeosang relaxed a little. Maybe these wouldn’t be bad news. “He demands Alexander Keaton in exchange for Mingi.”

Silence fell over them. 

“We should agree to it,” Yunho said immediately. “I know having Keaton in our possession is an advantage, but not if it means we lose Mingi.”

Yeosang agreed quietly.

“So what shall we do?” Jinsoul wondered. Her voice was a whisper and hoarse. Ever since her cousin’s death she had been quiet and withdrawn, but she still tried her best to be present and help.

Mina interlaced her fingers with Jinsoul's, reassuringly passing her thumb over Jinsoul's knuckles.

“There are instructions in the letter. A place, not far from here,” Irene explained. “Come to my study once you are done. We will discuss this matter.” 

She was about to leave but Seonghwa held her back. “Has Hongjoong managed to get anything valuable out of Mr Keaton?”

She shook her head. “No.” 

“That is a shame.”

“I think he fears Mr Grant more than he fears us,” she contemplated. “Which is not good.”

“I am not afraid of him,” Yeosang said, decidedly, glaring at a blank spot on the table.

“It is okay to be afraid from time to time,” Yunho muttered.

“I need to get back. I was in the middle of a discussion. Everyone is on edge because of the Night’s Queen death, and how we are meant to proceed now.” She sighed. “It feels like we are coming to an end. I am not sure if for our benefit or Mr Grant’s.”

“We will come once we are done eating,” Mina promised her.

The afternoon was bleeding into nighttime, the rain clouds dissolving in the sky to give way to a dramatic sunset, its colorful claws reaching out over New York City, leaving tinges of dark orange, pink, red all over the sky. 

It felt a little like the end of something. As Irene had said.

Mr Keaton was still partially unconscious, a weight for Yeosang and Seonghwa to drag along, but thankfully the meeting spot wasn’t too far. The construction site was empty at this hour, especially after the heavy downpour. Poodles of rain waters reflecting the dramatists going in the sky, the perfect image distorted and flickered when Yeosang’s boots stepped into it.

“We have arrived!” he yelled out into the open, glancing around.

Within the blink of an eye, several vampires appeared, two of them holding an unconscious body. _Mingi_. Upon further inspection, Yeosang realized that one of the vampires holding Mingi was one of the experiments.

“He does not look too alive,” one of the vampires said, jerking her chin at Mr Keaton.

“He is,” Seonghwa assured her, kicking Mr Keaton, who let out a groan.

She tilted her head, smiling. She glanced at the vampire experiment, waiting for further commands.

“We came here as we agree to your terms,” Yeosang said. “The warlock for the Shadowhunter.” He pushed the warlock forward, who fell ungracefully onto the wet pavement.

The experiment cackled, jumping down from the construction. “Oh, you believed that?”

“What,” Seonghwa deadpanned.

“Mr Grant sends his regards. A show _just for you_ ,” the vampire experiment continued, grinning maniacally. Mr Keaton blanched, his lips parting, a weak ‘no’ falling from them. “This is for his mother.”

Yeosang watched with horror induced eyes, everything moving in slow motion, how the experiment snapped Mingi’s neck. His friend’s body fell from the railing down onto the concrete.

Yeosang wasn’t sure if he was breathing, if his heart was beating, if he was moving at all. 

Rage filled him, but fear did too. And he did not move, his eyes tunneled on Mingi’s body. He couldn’t lose him too. _He couldn’t_.

He refused to.

With blinded emotions coursing through him, he moved on his own. He heard screams and yelling, but he wasn’t aware anymore what was going on. The moment his knees hit the concrete next to Mingi’s body, his hands coming forward to hold his friend, he was staggered to find them bloody. He wasn’t sure whose blood it was; he didn’t care.

“Mingi,” he whispered, or he thought he did. He wasn’t sure.

Strong arms circled around his biceps, pulling him up. He came face to face with Seonghwa, his face submerged in worry and anger. His lips were moving, but Yeosang could not hear his words. He noticed the world had gone peacefully quiet, every sound and color muffled and muted. Perhaps he had crossed a portal to another dimension. He wasn’t sure.

The hectic atmosphere slowly settled down and soon the vampires that had brought Mingi were either dead or gone, a few meters from Mingi’s body lay another body: Alexander Keaton. Yeosang’s seraph blade was buried deep in his chest. It was gruesome. He supposed that was whom the blood on his hands belonged to.

“—sang,” he heard Seonghwa call out. “Yeosang.”

He looked up.

“Yeosang. We must get to Hongjoong. We can still salvage Mingi, but not if we stay here.” He pulled at Yeosang’s arm, getting him to move. “Hyunjin is on his way to get him. Don’t lose hope.”

Yeosang nodded, it made his temples hurt and his vision blur.

“I got you,” Seonghwa whispered, his voice fading out. “I got you.”

The world dimmed completely and Yeosang fell, strong arms held him up, until everything went pitch black.

Yeosang was woken up by a strong, unpleasant scent filtering through his nostrils. He jerked up. A warm hand pushed him back down. He realized belatedly that he was laying on a fairly comfortable bed. He looked around, not recognizing the bedroom, but he did recognize Seonghwa sitting beside him, on the edge of the bed.

“We are in Hongjoong’s apartment,” he revealed. “They are currently debating what to do with Mingi. He is not dead yet—well, _he is_ , but since he did drink vampire blood we can bring him back…”

“But he would be a vampire,” Yeosang croaked, his throat was dry. He coughed. Seonghwa immediately handed him a glass of water. He helped Yeosang drink it. “You know what happens to Shadowhunters turned to Downworlders.”

“I know. But I also know that you would not give up Mingi. That you would not mind if he were to be a vampire,” Seonghwa spoke.

Yeosang stayed quiet. 

It was the truth. Yeosang knew he would do whatever it took to have Mingi survive this, even if it meant for him to become a vampire. They could figure out the details later. But the Council wouldn’t be so kind. Mingi wouldn’t be allowed to live in the Institute anymore or visit Idris. He’d be cast out, for good.

“I will wait outside for you,” Seonghwa interrupted his train of thoughts. “Come when you have fallen onto a decision. You are the closest to Mingi, it is up to you.” He hesitated, then put a reassuring hand on Yeosang’s shoulder. “Whatever you choose, I will be by your side.”

Yeosang’s heart jumped at that, it was confusing to have Seonghwa show such genuine care for him. The night before, when he had helped him bathe, and now speaking these gentle and encouraging words. It made an unfamiliar warmth spread through Yeosang’s body.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. There was a strong desire to reach forward and close the distance between them, get a taste of those lips again, but it’d be so wrong. There were far more important matters at hand. “Give me a moment,” he pleaded.

“Of course. We will be waiting.” Seonghwa got up, leaving the glass of water on the nightstand, and left the bedroom.

Yeosang let himself fall against the cushions of the bed, staring up at the ceiling. A candle on the nightstand flickered when the door closed, casting eerie shadows. He looked down at his body, remembering that he had killed Alexander Keaton, but the blood on his hands was washed off already. New Healing runes covered his arms, as well as Strength runes, undoubtedly drawn on by Seonghwa.

For a split second, Yeosang allowed heavy tears to roll down his cheeks. The events of the past two nights settled deep into his bones. It was soul-crushing, but he believed most of the damage was done by now, and they had successfully killed both of Wallace Grant’s most important allies. There wasn’t much the mundane could hide behind anymore.

But the losses they had endured—the losses _Yeosang_ had endured—they would leave a mark. 

Once he felt strong enough, and after drinking a few more glasses of water, he climbed out of the bed, joining the others in Hongjoong’s living room. Mingi was lying on the sofa, his arms crossed on his chest, his eyes shut close. Hongjoong was in the kitchen, preparing drinks as it seemed. Hyunjin was gone, but Keonhee was seated near the couch, opposite of Seonghwa, the two of them engaged in a quiet conversation.

“Ah, Yeosang,” Hongjoong called out, beckoning him over to his kitchen. “Have a drink. It should help.”

Gingerly, Yeosang took the glass out of the warlock’s hand. He sniffed it before it downed it, it was some rum concoction. It tasted sweet on his tongue, like fire down his throat, a little flutter in his stomach. But it did help. 

“Thank you.” He glanced at the living room. “Is he really dead?”

“Yes.” Hongjoong nodded his head. “I have asked Hyunjin to fetch Seoho, he will have a big enough supply of blood for Mingi—if that is what you choose, of course.”

Yeosang put down the drink and walked up to the couch. Keonhee and Seonghwa fell silent, watching him. Yeosang moved his hand towards Mingi’s, brushing his fingers against the family ring.

Mingi didn’t have any family anymore. His parents had died over a decade ago, his only family now were Yeosang and Irene. This was entirely up to them. Yeosang knew that whatever his choice would end up being, Irene would stand behind him.

“Is there a garden nearby? Or a cemetery?” he asked the warlock.

“Yes. There is the park.” Hongjoong responded. “If you choose to complete his transformation, we should bury him there.”

Yeosang nodded his head. “I do not think I would ever be myself if I let him go.”

“Then we shall wait for Hyunjin and Seoho to come back.” Hongjoong moved forward, squeezing Yeosang’s shoulder. “Mingi can stay with me until he is in a stable condition. I am sure he can find a home in Seoho’s new den.”

Yeosang got up, feeling less heavy and burdened than before. He got his half finished drink and walked out onto the balcony, surveying the dark park. The sea’s salty scent whipped his hair around, it had come loose during the commotion earlier and Yeosang couldn’t bother to pin it back into place.

He heard the balcony door open again, someone joining him. He didn’t need to turn his head to know it was Seonghwa.

“I know it was not an easy choice, and Mingi might resent you, but you did the right thing.”

“I am doing the selfish thing.”

“Sometimes the selfish thing is the right one too.”

Yeosang lowered the glass, his free hand coming around the balcony’s railing, where he held onto tightly. He felt Seonghwa stepping closer, his shoulder brushing against Yeosang’s as he leaned forward, his arms resting on the railing. He ducked his head, glancing at the night.

“I am amazed how you managed to handle all of this,” Seonghwa spoke up. “It was not easy—at all. You lost our best friend, nearly lost them both. This was not an easy call. But you pushed through it all, Yeosang. I scarcely recall ever encountering a Shadowhunter as strong as you.” 

He cleared his throat, awkwardly, when Yeosang stayed quiet. 

“Say something?” Seonghwa begged in a small voice, very unlike him.

“How do _you_ know that you are doing the right thing?” Yeosang wondered, gracefully ignoring the ramble of words Seonghwa had spoken. They had made his heart burn bright, something painful and something that felt a little like he was coming home—except Yeosang didn’t really have a home. His home had always been Irene, Mingi, and Hwanwoong, and two thirds of that were gone.

“What do you mean?” Seonghwa asked him, he had put his head on his forearms, his back bent so that he could comfortably watch over Queens, but he did tilt his head in that instant to glance up at Yeosang.

Yeosang finished his drink, placing the glass on the balcony floor, and joined Seonghwa, mirroring his posture.

“Well, how do you know that we are the people you should trust? We could be tricking you, lying to you…” 

He held Seonghwa’s gaze for a moment, trying to look serious and intimidating, but Seonghwa chuckled, turning his face away.

“I could not believe that. No matter how convincing you would try to be.”

“Fine. How do you know that what we do is the right thing? Maybe your father was right all along.”

Seonghwa shook his head. “He-He is full of hatred. It is poisonous and the only thing that fuels him. There is no way that he is right. I know that I am doing the right thing because, even if it is terrifying to go against Jinhyuk, against many of the principles he has taught me, there is a rush in my blood—a breath of fresh air. It feels as if, for the first time in a long time, I am able to _breathe in._ ”

Yeosang didn’t know what to say, he looked away from the ever growing darker night to study Seonghwa instead. He had his eyes closed, his raven black hair moving to the sea’s breeze, as if it was an Angel’s touch. His thick eyebrows were smooth, for once, instead of that perpetually annoyed frown. His lashes long over his cheekbones, casting small shadows as the light from Hongjoong’s apartment lit part of his face up. His straight nose, slightly crooked, connected over his Cupid’s bow to his lump, red lips.

His beauty was striking—ethereal. Yeosang never really had taken time to pause and study him like this, without his formed prejudices towards him, without the guilt in the back of his mind that he shouldn’t feel an attraction, without a flare of annoyance surging whenever he thought that Seonghwa wasn’t so bad. Now it was all out of way, by some miraculous turn of events, and he looked at him as if he was seeing him for the first time.

Funnily, it reminded him of the time he _actually_ had seen Seonghwa for the very first time, six years ago. 

How he had been stunned, intimidated by him as well as felt a lot of admiration towards him. Little Yeosang had wanted so badly to have him as a _parabatai_ since he had been impressed by Seonghwa’s skill and intellect. Perhaps he should be relieved they never had become _parabatai_ , for it was forbidden that _parabatai_ fell in love.

Not that Yeosang was feeling love, but—

He shook his head, looking away. It was too late to be thinking of these things.

“I do not know if I can breathe freely right now or not. Everything feels like a dream—or nightmare, rather,” he confessed. “Hwanwoong’s loss is still so bright, and now Mingi… Even if he were to crawl out of his grave and feed on the blood, turning him into a vampire, he hardly will be able to stay by my side. And—” he hesitated. “And he will outlive me, outlive Irene. _Outlive Yunho_. It is as though I am punishing him in the end.”

“But otherwise you are robbing yourself, and Yunho, and Irene—and all of us,” he gestured at himself and those inside of Hongjoong's apartment, “of his presence, which is not fair either.”

Yeosang sighed, comfortably resting his head on his arms. They were straining a bit, but it was far too nice to move. And he had never gotten a chance to really talk with Seonghwa, this was as good as it could get.

“Do you think he will hate me?” he asked in a small voice.

“No. I really doubt he will.”

A knock on the balcony’s door interrupted their comfortable silence. They turned around to find Hongjoong beckoning them inside, behind him, surrounding the couch, were Seoho and Hyunjin, both with satchels around their shoulders. Yeosang supposed they were filled with human blood supplies.

This was it.

It was the dead of the night when they finished burying Mingi underneath a group of trees, their canopies blocking out the moonlight, but Seonghwa and Yeosang’s witchlights accompanied them. 

Hongjoong had brought drinks, handing them to the Shadowhunters and werewolf. The vampires simply stood by Mingi’s grave, ready to stop him once he climbed out and to feed him immediately.

“Shall we recite a eulogy?” Hongjoong offered.

“I am not good with words,” Yeosang said passingly with a shrug.

“I could offer a few of them, if you will have me,” Keonhee spoke up. Yeosang nodded. “Well, we are gathered here for the passing of a dear, dear friend. But it may be the beginning of a new life too. A gift that many of us take for granted,” he began with a calm, soothing voice. “To hear a friend’s laughter, that specific sound unlike any other, and once we have heard it too many times to count, we could recognize it anywhere. To hear a friend’s voice, the rise and fall of their tone, to hear that joy, to hear that pain—two extremes of the same gift.” Yeosang’s heart was heavy. He thought of both Mingi and Hwanwoong, one of them gone forever. He hadn’t gotten time to properly mourn Hwanwoong, yet, to let the reality sink in, but underneath the trees, with the sea’s breeze enveloping them, he allowed himself to feel that hurt. That bright, bright hurt. He closed his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks, as his lips trembled to keep him from sobbing out loud.

“You never know how precious a voice is until you lose it,” Keonhee continued, unaware of the pain in Yeosang. “Life is painful and cruel and short—to some of us,” he added, glancing at Hongjoong and the vampires. “But it makes for a beautiful journey when we have friends by our side. Friends such as Mingi.” He cleared his throat. Yeosang opened his eyes to see that the werewolf had tears of his own pouring down his face. “To Mingi!” he exclaimed, toasting his drink.

“To Mingi!” Yeosang joined him.

“To Mingi!” the others repeated.

“Thank you, Keonhee,” Yeosang addressed the werewolf, squeezing his forearm.

“No need to thank me, my friend.”

They didn’t need to wait for long as the soil shook and, after some struggle, an arm broke through it. Yeosang kneeled down, taking the hand to help Mingi dig himself out of his grave. Seoho and Hyunjin were quick, unscrewing the many bottles with blood for Mingi, who downed them as if he had been in a desert for years.

Yeosang, Seonghwa, Hongjoong, and Keonhee waited at a safe distance, watching the spectacle with gruesome interest. 

“To think the guy that used to retch at the sight of blood is now…” Seonghwa began but trailed off, grimacing.

Yeosang glared at him. “Do _not_ make this worse.”

When Mingi came down from his thirst, his consciousness gaining power, he slowed down on his drinking. He lowered the bottle, staring at it blankly. He didn’t say anything for a very long time, simply sitting next to his grave.

“I am a vampire.”

“Yes,” Seoho answered.

Mingi’s head shot up, taking in Seoho and Hyunjin. When he turned around, sensing the blood of others, his eyes wandered over the four of them until he zeroed in on Yeosang, who stood still, paralyzed and anxious.

“Yeosang,” Mingi said, standing up. He stopped in front of him, staring down. The lower half of his face was covered in blood, some of it trailing down into his clothes. Yeosang expected him to angrily explode any second now, but to his surprise Mingi leaned forward, his arms coming down around the Shadowhunter’s shoulders, hugging him tightly. “It is a blessing to see you again.”

Yeosang hugged him back immediately.


	12. After Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just Seonghwa.
> 
> The boy Yeosang had once hated, that he now had come to love.
> 
> “Please, do not leave my side,” Yeosang whispered, hoping Seonghwa could hear how important he was to him.

**New York, November 14th 1899**

The large mirror in Yeosang’s chamber returned his image in precision: from his curly dark hair pulled into a bun down to his white suit. He looked tired still, the last two days had been draining, and Hwanwoong’s death as well as Mingi’s destiny were no less hard to deal with. At least there was the consolation that Mingi was back, not as a human, not breathing, robbed from living the life he had had until now, but it was something. The thin thread he held on to.

Yeosang was more than relieved that Mingi was not angry at him for taking the choice, for making him a vampire instead of letting him die. He was sure it was part of their unspoken bond that Mingi understood that Yeosang couldn’t have lost both of his best friends. Yeosang knew Mingi would have done the same, if he had been in Yeosang’s position. 

Of course he still felt guilty: guilty that he couldn’t have protected Hwanwoong and Mingi better, guilty that it had befallen them and not him; guilty of so many things.

Seonghwa’s words earlier had calmed him down a little, soothed the cracks in his heart, but now that he had slept and hours had passed, the guilt was back.

A knock on his door interrupted him from adjusting his funeral clothes. 

He turned his head. “Come in,” he spoke.

Seonghwa entered his chamber. Yunho loomed behind him, standing anxiously in the corridor. Seonghwa said something to him in a quiet voice and Yunho nodded, staying back. The older Shadowhunter closed the door and looked silently at Yeosang for a moment, his eyes trailing over him with a studying and slightly unnerving gaze.

It wasn’t threatening, it was more the kind of gaze that set Yeosang’s skin burning, a reminder of their kiss in that vampire den.

“Are you ready?” Seonghwa asked. His dark hair and tanned skin stood highly in contrast to his white suit, the runes snaking his skin peeking out from the collar and cuffs.

“Is anyone ever ready for a funeral of a close friend?” Yeosang countered.

“Fair enough.”

Seonghwa didn’t move though. He stayed near the door, awkwardly looking around Yeosang’s room: from the bookshelves in the far end that lacked books and instead were filled with weapons that had once belonged to a younger Yeosang, piles of letters and family photographs that Yeosang didn’t dare to read or look at since the hurt of having lost his parents was still bright, his scattered clothes and his dirty gear that he hadn’t washed yet because it gave him the feeling that it would erase the experiences of the past two days.

“Yeosang, I—” Seonghwa started, stumbling over his words. 

Yeosang looked at Seonghwa: he had his jaw set and his eyebrows furrowed. His raven hair, which usually hung messily over his forehead, was neatly brushed back. He looked handsome, but there was a wary air around him, undoubtedly about to ask a question he knew could be off putting.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his words rushed out. He was twisting his hands, glancing at Yeosang inquisitively. 

“I would rather not answer that question,” Yeosang told him, approaching him. 

They were standing closely, quietly staring at each other. Yeosang wondered what Seonghwa had wanted to ask him, tell him, and why he now couldn’t do so. He wondered when exactly their relationship had changed to _this_ —whatever it was—with a different tension straining them from talking. Before, they had known how to confront one another, the rude remarks falling naturally from their lips like the swing of their seraph blades. But now there was something loaded and awkward suspended between them, and neither knew how to tear it down.

“We should probably go. The Rite of Mourning is about to begin,” Seonghwa said, stepping back and turning around.

As if on reflex, Yeosang reached out his hand, taking hold of the older’s wrist to stop him. Perhaps Seonghwa had lost his words and the intent of his visit the moment he had stood in front of Yeosang, but Yeosang had found new words he wanted to say.

Seonghwa tilted his head curiously, his eyes dark in the dim witchlight, the sun setting behind Yeosang, casting long shadows in front of him.

“Thank you,” mumbled Yeosang, feeling these words to consume him in a fire of vulnerability and embarrassment. It was so unusual to voice them to Seonghwa, of all people. “Thank you for being with me through this all,” he elaborated as the older simply stared at him mutely, his eyes a fraction wider, his bottom lip sucked in the slightest as he bit on it in a nervous manner. “It means a lot to me.” Yeosang wasn’t sure why he kept going, clearly it was shifting the atmosphere in the room and making Seonghwa unsettled. “I am not sure I could have survived that—without you. Your presence was of great relief.”

Seonghwa softly removed his wrist from Yeosang’s grasp, clenching and unclenching his fingers as if he had lost the feeling in them and was trying to get it back.

He opened his mouth, closing it again, at a lack of words. “Yeosang,” he said, but there was no follow up. His name, spoken with something tender and broken alike, hanging in the air heavily, as if it was a statement and not just his name.

Yeosang felt a familiar thrumming under his skin, something alive and loud coursing through his veins, an all consuming fire, its sparks making his fingers shake with the desire to stretch them out, reach forward and place them on the side of Seonghwa’s face; to run his thumb over Seonghwa’s cheeks, over his lips and memorize the shape of them and how soft they were; to run them through his hair, wonder how easily he could unmake its neatness, which was so unlike the Seonghwa he knew. 

There was so much desire stored in his fingertips; a raw want to explore and study Seonghwa. To _know_ him.

Art wasn’t that big between Shadowhunters, they focused primarily on fighting and protecting mundanes, but often some Shadowhunters showed a liking towards the arts—whether it was dancing or music or painting. Yeosang never had shown an interest in it, deeming it useless, a distraction from what was essential to being a Shadowhunter. Mingi had always been different when it came to that, finding an escape in art—poetry especially—a way to let go of pain and sorrow. Yeosang had always favored liquor and a quiet mind.

But as he stared at Seonghwa from such close proximity, with that electricity coursing through him, he wondered what it would be like to be a painter: to capture Seonghwa’s beauty on a canvas. In what way he would study him and how he would go about immortalizing him with a brush and paint, how he would mix the colors to get the exact shade of his eyes and his lips.

“ _Yeosang_ ,” Seonghwa spoke his name again, an underlying urgency in it, as if he was conveying a message in that single syllable. A secret code Yeosang was meant to catch and decode, and respond to it, but he was too caught up in his own thoughts and desires to really know what it meant. 

Was it a warning or an invitation?

Before any of the two could move—closer or further away—the door to his chamber opened, and Yunho peeked his head through. He looked just as tired and worn out as Yeosang, the loss of Mingi clearly having had a heavy affect on him. 

Yeosang and Seonghwa had told him about Mingi becoming a vampire and about him staying at Hongjoong’s for now—until they caught Wallace Grant and could put an end to this misery—learning how to _be_ a vampire. Yunho’s response had been mixed, relief at first and then anger and despair that this had to be Mingi’s destiny, and empathy for the hard choice Yeosang had had to make.

“They are waiting,” Yunho said warily, as he had immediately caught onto the strange atmosphere reigning in the room. “We should head downstairs, to the backyard. Irene will need us for this.”

Yeosang swallowed. The desires and thoughts vanished instantly, leaving him strangely high strung and on edge, as if he had been caught with a dangerous secret.

Seonghwa coughed, turning away from Yeosang. “Right.” He brushed past Yunho in quick strides.

Yunho eyed Yeosang curiously. “Did he say something?”

“No…” He shook his head. “Or rather _I_ did,” he corrected himself then. Yunho already opened his mouth to protest, a disappointed shimmer in his eyes. “But it was _not_ of provocative nature,” Yeosang quickly defended himself. “I only expressed my gratefulness that he was by my side through all of this.”

“Oh.” Yunho’s mouth fell shut, his eyebrows raised, a pensive look clouding his face. “I swear, even after being his close friend all these years, there is so much about him that I still do not understand.”

Yeosang sighed. “That would make two of us.”

The sky was so clear when the Shadowhunters exited the Institute, as clear as the surface of a lake minutes before it froze during a dry winter day. No clouds were in sight and the sun’s last rays were bouncing off the high windows of the Institute, creating a shimmering labyrinth of lights in the backyard. It was staggering, almost, how nice the afternoon was. Not fitting for a funeral or the process of mourning; _it should be raining_ , Yeosang decided grimly, glaring at the nice sky, where a flock of birds was passing by, heading south before the harsh winter could fully arrive.

He hated having to stand there, where they had stood only a few days ago to say their last goodbye to Jessica and others. Yeosang didn’t want to say goodbye to Hwanwoong, he doubted he would ever stop saying his goodbyes.

Was there even a stop to mourning Hwanwoong or would he simply one day learn to live despite it, a quiet pain in the back of his mind, like it had become with his parents? A persistent and constant headache, an ache in his shoulders, a heavy sigh before he drifted off to sleep… 

Yunho, Seonghwa, Mina, and Jinsoul stood firmly by his side, as though they were protecting him. Many Shadowhunters had their eyes on him, some full of pity, others full of empathy. They knew who he was, who his parents had been; they knew how close he had been with Hwanwoong and Mingi, if it hadn’t been because everyone knew that Irene had watched over them all these years, they had undoubtedly noticed the moment they had stepped foot into the Institute: the unbreakable triumvirate.

The mischievous boys from the International Institute of New York. 

Three unfortunate kids that had found a home and a family there. Even if Hwanwoong’s mother was still alive and had remarried (something quite unusual for Shadowhunters), his home had been with Yeosang, Mingi, and Irene, and the Institute’s staff.

Yeosang trained his eyes on a spot on the dirty ground, refusing to look at the pyre, where Hwanwoong’s immobile body was lying, his eyes sewn shut. Of course Mingi’s body wasn’t there, in his stead they had simply put a doll made of blankets and ropes, a seraph blade lying on its chest.

When Brother Akoni spoke—Well, he didn’t exactly speak. When his thoughts were amplified in all Shadowhunters’s minds, Yeosang tried his hardest to not pay them attention, but it wasn’t easy shutting off his thoughts, especially when they came from a Silent Brother. It was as though he was dealing with a particularly nasty thought that didn’t want to leave him alone.

A sudden, gentle grace against the back of his hand did the trick though. 

He looked down towards his hand, noticing that someone else was pressing the back of their hand against his, their pinky finger reaching out ever so slowly and softly brushing his.

He didn’t need to look up to know who it was, the family ring on Seonghwa’s ring finger was more than telling, but Yeosang looked up nonetheless. Seonghwa’s eyes were on the fire, its red and orange and yellows reflecting in the older’s dark eyes beautifully and dramatically, the shadows on his face dancing to the flames.

Yeosang didn’t avert his gaze when he slowly pressed his own pinky finger against Seonghwa’s, cautiously studying the older’s face. There was no visible reaction, only a stoic and blank look, but Seonghwa gave a reaction in the form of fully giving in, the back of his hand now completely touching Yeosang’s. It was a welcoming warmth and distraction; Brother Akoni’s words were gone, only a distant murmur now.

All of his focus was on the gentleness and softness of Seonghwa’s hand and the tickling sensation that this simple touch was causing on his skin, his hand on the brink of shaking with how hard he tried to make it stay still. After so many years of pushing away his friends and any sort of physical contact, this small touch was almost overwhelming him. It made his skin itch to pull away and at the same time yearn for more, to turn his hand around and interlace his fingers with Seonghwa’s.

But Yeosang didn’t move and neither did Seonghwa, they stood still in the darkening afternoon with the bright flames in front of them.

(And if towards the ending of the Rite of Mourning, the two Shadowhunters had shuffled closer to one another, their arms completely touching, neither of them acknowledged it nor did their friends.)

When the Rite of Mourning came to a close, Brother Akoni left with Jinhyuk, who looked mildly uncomfortable in the presence of his older brother. Yeosang didn’t know the details, but it had been a pretty big deal when Brother Akoni had decided to join the Silent Brothers.

“I got some whiskey from Miss López…” Mina spoke up as the crowd thinned out and it was just them and Irene still standing near the pyre. She didn’t continue, her words enough to understand what she was insinuating.

“Sounds good to me,” Seonghwa agreed, stepping away from Yeosang. He already missed his warmth. “We do not have anything planned for tomorrow, it could not hurt relaxing for one night. I believe we deserve it.”

“You guys go ahead, I will walk back with Irene,” Yeosang said.

“Of course.” Yunho squeezed his shoulder briefly. Jinsoul lightly touched his elbow, giving him a reassuring smile. “We will wait on you.”

“We will wait up in the Attic, no one should bother us there,” Seonghwa commented as they walked back to the Institute, their retreating footsteps swallowed by the loud crackling of the fire.

Irene stood still, staring at the fire with unseeing eyes. She was dressed in a white suit as well, it most likely had once belonged to her brother. Yeosang approached her and without any words he hugged her tightly. It was a difficult time for both of them. Once everyone would leave and it would be _just_ _them_ , the Institute would become dreadfully quiet; neither of them looked forward to it.

“I wish I could have been of more help,” Irene murmured.

“You helped us, you _always_ do. You had your duties to take care of, here at the Institute,” Yeosang refuted her words. “As Seonghwa did say, it was none of our fault. Only Mr Grant and his minions.”

Irene let out a breathless chuckle, pulling away slightly. She brushed some of Yeosang’s hair out of his face, smiling down at him lovingly and proudly, her eyes misty. “You are agreeing with Seonghwa, now that _is_ noteworthy.”

Yeosang couldn’t help his own, breathless laugh, embarrassed and relieved that despite the obvious sorrow, they would be all right. They would be, he knew that now.

“Perhaps it was not so bad that he was here. I believe we have put our differences aside and could become friends.” 

Before they could walk back, Irene retrieved a napkin from her suit trousers. She handed it Yeosang. “I believe this is in better hands with you.”

He tilted his head in confusion, taking it out of her hands. With curiosity he unwrapped it, realizing it was Hwanwoong’s family ring. He stared at it for a moment, trying not to let his mind wander too far.

“Here, let me help you,” Irene said softly, moving so that she could stand behind Yeosang. She took the ring out of his hand and then unlatched his necklace, putting the ring with Yeosang’s own family ring. “You were his family too.”

The brightness of the pyre was stark in the now dark afternoon, the more Yeosang stared at it the more his eyes stung, but he welcomed it, tears rolling easily down his cheeks. He had found it so hard to cry earlier, there hadn’t been time and he had been in denial of the events, but no good would come of it. Denial would only consume him, feed that bright flame of revenge and self destruction.

With a gentle pat on his shoulder, Irene walked ahead, towards the Institute. “I shall see you in the morning.”

The young Shadowhunters gathered in the Attic of the Institute, which was rarely frequented, usually the staff used it to store useless objects or, in the most recent case, they had placed everything that had once belonged to Irene’s brother up there.

After pouring everyone a generous amount of whiskey, they sat in a circle. Their witchlights were the only source of light, dust motes flying about. Yunho was the first to raise his glass, his eyes red rimmed. 

“To Hwanwoong and Mingi!” he said, his voice strong in the silence.

“To Hwanwoong and Mingi!” echoed everyone else.

The whiskey tasted sweet and bitter, burning in Yeosang’s throat and stomach, but he welcomed it.

The images of both his friends’s corpses flickered in his mind like the fire of the pyre; it’d be hard to forget. Even if Mingi was back as a vampire, the picture of his listless and lifeless body was permanently etched in Yeosang’s mind, haunting him.

A tense silence settled over them as they drank, none of them dared to speak. They kept shooting Yeosang wary glances, as if waiting for him to break the silence, not talking out of respect for the loss of his friends. But he didn’t know what to say. He wouldn’t mourn his friends one night and that was it, this was going to become a longer process, like it was with his parents.

He considered bringing up Wallace Grant and how to track him down, but it didn’t feel appropriate and he doubted any of them wanted to talk about their enemy. They were in the Attic to forget. Yeosang caught Jinsoul and Mina holding hands, their fingers intertwined with gentleness. His heart gave a very heavy beat.

“Hwanwoong would be proud,” Yeosang said carefully. It was strange using his friend’s name as if he wasn’t there; he wasn’t, but Yeosang _wasn’t used to that._ He gestured at himself and the other Shadowhunters. “He would be proud of how civil this hangout is.” 

He attempted a smile. Seonghwa returned it, a little off and far away, but he was amused. 

Yunho huffed a silent laugh. He said, “I cannot quite believe it myself.” He raised his glass. “To new friendships!”

The others echoed his words. This time the whiskey didn’t burn as much, and the heaviness was less. This was a toast to new friendships, not the lost ones. Of course it would taste differently.

“As unexpected as it came, I appreciate this new formed boned,” Mina said. “I am glad that I got to know you a little better, cousin.”

Yeosang agreed. That was true; even if he had lost his parents and hadn’t truly fit in with his uncle, he had Mina. She was his family.

For the first time, Yeosang believed the words Hongjoong had told him during his birthday celebration, a week ago: _where you will encounter a lot of rejection and hardships, there is also a lot of beauty and a family that you will find—one you never even imagined was possible. They all love you a great deal._

Perhaps they did. Yeosang glanced at Seonghwa. Hopefully, they did.

“It has been very nice having you around, Mina,” he told her, smiling gratefully. “We need to keep in touch once you move back to Idris.”

“Most definitely!”

“I hope I am invited to come visit you,” Yunho said. “Maybe even with Seonghwa.”

Yeosang shivered. The idea that Seonghwa would want to come once their mission was finished sounded crazy, but with the recent developments it wasn’t as far off. 

“Of course,” he assured Yunho. “We could visit Mingi, see how he is doing.”

“I would like that,” Yunho whispered. “I would _really_ like that.”

Again, Yeosang wondered about Yunho and Mingi’s relationship. Had they grown to become good friends, or was there more to it? Had they kissed like Seonghwa and Yeosang had? 

He shook his head, in due time he would know. Mingi would tell him, he knew as much. He would tell Mingi too, once the dangers had settled and once he understood his feelings for Seonghwa better.

After that tense silence had been broken, conversation flowed easier. They finished the whiskey Mina had brought in about an hour, a pleasant tiredness buried deep into their bones. For the first time, in the past days, Yeosang wasn’t thinking of the terrible events. The whiskey swirled in Yeosang’s mind and body, rendering him in a pleasant haze, the trauma distant. He knew it would come back in the morning and he would have to push through it with the help of his friends and family. It wasn’t as if he wanted to forget his pain or lessen it. This was the kind of pain he wanted to feel, but for now he could pretend it wasn’t there for a little while.

When midnight broke through, the sky outside a pitch black, clouds covering the stars and moon, Mina and Jinsoul excused themselves. Yunho was passed out on the Attic’s floor, drooling in his slumber. 

It was just the two of them: Seonghwa and Yeosang, and the quietness of the night.

The younger Shadowhunter put down his still half full glass and ranked a hand through his half long hair, untangling some of its knots. 

Seonghwa sat across him, a pensive look on his face. He hadn’t drunk much either. Something seemed to be heavy on his mind.

“What are you thinking about?” Yeosang asked.

Seonghwa blinked, his eyes flitting over to Yeosang. He appeared a little surprised that Yeosang was talking to him.

“I was thinking about my father. I think—” He shook his head. “I talked with Irene about it, we believe he might be involved with Mr Grant.”

Yeosang had his own suspicions, but he hadn’t wanted to bring them up. It was an enormous accusation, one he couldn’t throw around just because he disliked Jinhyuk. He was glad he wasn’t the only one thinking it.

“What are you going to do?” 

“I am not entirely sure yet,” Seonghwa admitted with a heavy sigh. He had his legs crossed, his hands in his lap as he played with his belt. He was still dressed in white as were all of them. “The closer we are getting to finding Mr Grant, the heavier this is becoming. I shall confront him soon. It is not something I am looking forward to.”

“I understand.” Yeosang scooted closer to him so their voices wouldn’t wake up Yunho, whose snores were almost like a lullaby. He placed one of his hands on Seonghwa’s knee in a reassuring way. “If you need help, I am here.”

Seonghwa looked at him, it was almost a surprised look. As if he wasn’t all too used to Yeosang being kind toward him. Yeosang couldn’t blame him, it _was_ a strange and new territory for them.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it, Yeosang,” he said.

From up close, Yeosang could see the stars in Seonghwa’s eyes. _There are almost as many as in the night sky_ , he thought, recoiling a little at how he sounded. Poetry had always been more Mingi’s thing than Yeosang’s, but he couldn’t help himself. Seonghwa’s beauty was unparalleled; perhaps because he once had hated him and now his heart ached all the more for it.

If he could, he would replace all the terrible images in his mind with how Seonghwa was looking at him in that moment. It set his skin on fire and his heartbeat wild; with just a single touch Yeosang would forget his pain, for a while at least. 

But he waited, with the air caught in his lungs, his hand gripping Seonghwa’s knee tightly now to hold himself up. What would happen next was entirely up to the older Shadowhunter.

Seonghwa either knew exactly how to read Yeosang’s unspoken desire, or it was his own desire too, because his eyes flickered down to Yeosang’s lips, as if he was memorizing the shape of them or recalling the memory of them days ago in the vampire den. One of his hands came up, reaching out for Yeosang’s hand on his knee, their fingers entangling gently. Hesitantly, his other hand came up to cup Yeosang’s face, his thumb running over Yeosang’s cheek, insistent and at the same time the touch was so soft. Without any more words exchanged, Seonghwa surged forward and closed the gap between them.

It was a gentle kiss at first, Yeosang’s body was trembling from the uncomfortable angle and he was still overly conscious of Yunho’s sleeping body at a short distance, but then Seonghwa scooted closer, taking Yeosang’s hand off his knee so he could move, never letting go. Their kiss turned deeper, open mouthed, and with more intent. 

Yeosang had never been kissed like that.

Their kiss in the vampire den had already spun his world, turning it upside down, but this time there was no pretense, no excuse as to why they were kissing aside from the simple truth: that they wanted to.

His heart ached for it, the kiss was not gentle in the way that they never had really been gentle with one another so they didn’t quite know how to, and yet, at the same time, there was an incredible tenderness to it.

Yeosang didn’t know which one of the two it was, but a quiet, breathless whimper filled the otherwise quiet Attic, sounding so much louder. Yunho stirred in his sleep, waking up. Quickly, Seonghwa backed away, not completely, just enough that they were sitting with their knees touching.

Dazed and with a deep blush on his cheeks, his lips redder than usual, Seonghwa let out a low chuckle. Yeosang was still breathless, no words coming to him.

“He is waking,” Seonghwa stated the obvious.

“It is for the best,” he mumbled. _Thank the Angel that he is,_ he thought. He couldn’t say with certainty that he would have stopped kissing Seonghwa.

“What do you mean?”

Yeosang licked his lips, which proved to be a mistake. Heat shot up his cheeks and he was sure he was as red as Mingi’s hair. He cast his eyes away, not meeting Seonghwa’s inquisitive gaze.

“Well, I was losing myself,” he decided to confess.

“ _Oh_.”

A snort came, followed by a sharp intake of breath, a startled gasp. “What did I miss?” Yunho slurred, sitting up. He rubbed at the corner of his mouth, where he had drooled. “Where are the girls?”

“They left already,” Seonghwa said, tearing his eyes away from Yeosang. He wore a dark and unreadable look. “You missed not much,” he added, clearing his throat. “I think it is best we all go to bed.”

~*~

**New York, November 16th 1899**

For Yeosang, the morning started with one of the Conta twins reaching out to him, a letter in his hand, claiming it came from the High Warlock of Queens. Yeosang ripped it open without waiting, letting his arrows clatter to the floor of the training room. In his eagerness, he nearly ripped the letter in two. 

With wide eyes he scanned it, his friends around him as they wanted to know what Hongjoong had to say, if it was news about Mingi or perhaps Mr Grant’s location. 

A sigh of relief escaped Yeosang when he read that Mingi’s condition was stable and he had requested to see Yeosang and Yunho, whenever they were ready to swing by the apartment of the warlock.

“We should head out immediately,” said Yeosang, rumpling the letter and shoving it into his training trousers.

“We have to absolve training and then be present at the Clave’s meeting later, our presence is mandatory,” Seonghwa opposed, uneasiness flashing through his eyes. “They will discuss what the next step to catch Mr Grant is. We must not miss it, it would raise suspicion.”

“We have snuck out before,” pointed out Yunho. He shrugged when Seonghwa, Jinsoul, and Mina gave him surprised looks. “I mean, come on, this entire time we have been sneaking out.” 

“He does have a point,” Mina muttered.

But Seonghwa was already shaking his head. “This is the Clave. We cannot—I get that disobeying my father’s orders is one thing, but this is different. We cannot miss this meeting, especially since it is the first one since this all started. It makes it ever so more serious.”

Yeosang groaned. “ _Ugh_.”

“He is right,” Jinsoul said, eyeing Yunho and Yeosang warily. “You can leave right after.”

Yunho stayed quiet, turning his back on them to march over to the dagger stand to fetch some. Even if he wasn’t agreeing with them, they knew he would obey, begrudgingly so. Mina exchanged a look with Jinsoul and Seonghwa before she followed her _parabatai_ , their voices quiet as they discussed back and forth.

Jinsoul gave Seonghwa a meaningful look, her eyes darting towards Yeosang, then she left for the other end of the room, getting her whip from her belt, and began training on her own.

“Will you be all right?” Seonghwa wondered.

“I suppose,” Yeosang answered after a moment. He crouched to pick up his arrows again. “It is not as if Mingi’s hurt or in a bad condition, so I am probably being childish.”

“You are not,” Seonghwa reassured him. “It is only natural that you want to see him.”

Yeosang shrugged noncommittally.

After those emotionally loaded days, in which they had existed in a strange limbo, the walls between them were up again, neither of them acknowledging their kisses or Seonghwa taking care of Yeosang and comforting him during the funeral. It was as though that never had happened and partly Seonghwa was glad, acknowledging it meant growing aware that their relationship had changed and that there was _something_ between them—something nameless but powerful. 

He was not sure it was the right time to talk about it, if ever. Once this would be all over, where was this supposed to go? Seonghwa was supposed to travel to Idris and aid his father, then stay at some other Institute; as for Yeosang, who knew what his life would look like after all of this? 

He probably shouldn’t think too deeply about it, only headaches and unnecessary thoughts came with it.

But even so, _even so_ , Seonghwa dreamt of their kisses and other, different kisses they had never shared—and maybe never would. He thought, countless times, of their hands brushing together and the magnitude that simple touch had held, somehow much more telling and vast than anything else between them. Yeosang’s words when he had comforted Seonghwa about his father, when they had spoken on Hongjoong’s terrace, and everything in between kept replaying in his mind, all in different volumes and intensity, until they became a tangled mess and he no longer understood them.

He couldn’t say with certainty that once he left the International Institute of New York and its occupants, that he would just _move on_. He knew as certain as the sun rising and falling behind the horizon, the moon’s growing and shrinking stages, and the stars always resting in the night’s sky, even when clouds covered them, that Yeosang’s presence would linger beneath his skin and in his soul. 

When Seonghwa wandered through his dreams at night, he knew Yeosang would visit them for a long time, maybe even years from now, stored away in a room in the back of his mind, the one that was always dusty and unkept with how irregularly Seonghwa visited it, that Yeosang would wait there and remind him of what they had shared, _almost_ had shared— _could have shared_.

“Do you want to come?” Yeosang asked, pulling Seonghwa out of his thoughts.

“No.” He shook his head. “Mingi asked for Yunho and you, I hardly would want to impose.”

Yeosang hummed, testing his bow’s string.

“I am sure he would not mind.”

Seonghwa watched him. He seemed relaxed almost, the troubled and tired look in his eyes of the past days was nearly gone, and his shoulders weren’t as tense anymore. 

“Do you want me there?” Seonghwa wondered, daringly and stupidly.

Yeosang let go of the string suddenly, it wobbled back and forth, emitting a haunting, high pitched sound. He took hold of the string, glancing at Seonghwa briefly. 

He was flustered but trying not to show it. “It is not about me,” he simply responded.

“But do you want me to come?” Seonghwa insisted.

It felt like a dangerous game, an addicting one, in which he partly acknowledged their strange phase of friendship—one foot in, one foot out—and forced Yeosang to take notice of it too. 

Seonghwa had always been a bit of a coward, but Yeosang made him courageous, maybe a little impulsive too, and he wanted to take advantage of it, wanted to test its limits. See how far he could suspend himself out of this window without falling.

Damned be all those worries and thoughts about what would happen to them once their paths separated, Yeosang was right in front of him, and he—

“What if I were to say I want you there?” There was a peculiar grin gracing his lips. “What an outlandish thing of me to say.”

“It would not surprise me.” Yeosang’s head whipped in his direction, his eyes narrowing, but before he could retort, Seonghwa continued, “I was there when… _it_ happened, and when you had to take your choice. I would not be surprised.”

Yeosang bit the inside of his cheek as he stared unwaveringly at Seonghwa.

“I look forward to you coming along then.”

Seonghwa tried to fight the smile that threatened to make his cheeks hurt. He ducked his head, fumbling with his seraph blade. His chest was singing in off tunes and for a few seconds his limbs and brain weren’t as coordinated as they should have been, making him appear incredibly clumsy.

Yeosang had a silly smile of his own, that he was hiding in the crook of his elbow as he pretended to tighten his bow’s string.

The first time Seonghwa realized his father’s love was conditioned, he had been around eight. 

He still hadn’t possessed the words at that time to describe it or make proper sense of it, but it had been the first time he had gone to bed with his shoulders tensed up, waking up the following morning with a stiff neck and pain. 

The first of many.

Seonghwa’s mother was of a nurturing nature and a fierce Shadowhunter, but in the presence of her husband it often paled, showing only a fraction of who she truly was. Cowardice grew out of that phantom that she became over the years, passing that same cowardice onto her son. 

Seonghwa had been a studious kid, learning all of the runes ahead, sketching them over and over again into his notebook, eager to get his first one marked on his body. The eagerness to begin training was just as enormous, but his parents had agreed he should wait until he was at least ten before he got to pick up his first seraph blade.

At that time, Seonghwa hadn’t learned yet the consequences of disobedience, and one night he had sneaked into his father’s study to retrieve one of his weapons. 

Jinhyuk had not been impressed.

“You are _too young_ , son,” he had said harshly, yanking the blade out of Seonghwa’s little hands. “You cannot do this. I told you— _We_ told you to wait until you are ten before you start training. I thought I could trust you, Seonghwa, but I see you do not listen.”

Seonghwa had felt mortified and embarrassed, no words forming as his throat had tightened uncomfortably. It was a feeling he had not yet experienced in his young life.

Jinhyuk had shaken his head dismissively. “Disappointing,” he had muttered under his breath, putting the blade back in its place with so much care. “This was your grandfather’s seraph blade. It holds great meaning to our family, it is not to be held by inexperienced hands.”

What could have been an important lesson and growth for Seonghwa, ended up making him feel useless and incapable, as if he had committed a crime. 

As if realizing only then that he was talking to an eight year old kid, Jinhyuk let out a defeated sigh, kneeling in front of Seonghwa.

“You have to understand, being a Shadowhunter is not an easy or fun vocation. It is a duty, an honorable lifestyle we must carry out,” he explained in a softer tone, but his eyes were still cold. “We are powerful, Seonghwa, more powerful than anyone else. We protect the mundanes of Downworlders. Have patience and one day you might prove yourself worthy.” His father had placed his hand on Seonghwa’s shoulder, gripping it lightly. “Do you understand?”

Seonghwa had stayed quiet, still feeling uneasy and wishing nothing more than to leave his father’s study to run to his mother.

“ _Do you understand_?” Jinhyuk had repeated his words, still a soft tone, but there was an urgency there, a bark hidden underneath layers.

“Yes,” Seonghwa had replied, his voice oddly firm.

Jinhyuk had removed his hand then, but the pressure of it on Seonghwa’s shoulder had prevailed, never to leave again.

“Good.” The adult had stood up then, waving his hand in the air. “Go to sleep. It is late already. You do not want to be tired for your lesson tomorrow, do you?”

“No.” Seonghwa had shaken his head, tears burning in his eyes for some reason. 

He had sprinted out of the study, feeling as though he was being chased by something, an enormous shadow clinging to his shoulders and breathing down his neck. It had whispered to him that night; horrible, horrible things spilled out of its mouth. 

_Disappointing_ , the word had clung to Seonghwa’s feeble mind. He never had wanted to hear it again, not from his father, whom he looked up to and wanted to impress. He had never thought of the possibility that he could be disappointing to his father, that he could not live up to his expectations—that his father’s love for him was conditioned.

The moment Jinhyuk had requested Seonghwa to come to his private chamber, right after the Clave’s meeting, when Seonghwa was supposed to leave with Yeosang and Yunho to see Mingi, the air in his lungs had become scarce. The weight on his shoulders growing with every step he took, that shadow he was so familiar with now laughed in his ear, uncomfortably close.

Seonghwa entered the chamber hesitantly as he had grown used to do. Jinhyuk was seated behind his desk, looking much healthier than he had the last time Seonghwa had gone to visit him. He had made a point to keep the close encounters with his father at a small number over the past days—ever since he had chosen to help Yeosang and his friends rather than spy on them.

The coldness in Jinhyuk’s voice after the Clave’s meeting matched with the icy look in his eyes had meant anything but good news. 

Seonghwa feared that his father knew the truth—the truth behind Seonghwa’s wavering loyalties, the truth about his lies, the truth about his confusing feelings for Yeosang—but what he found was a letter lying in front of Jinhyuk.

“Your dear mother wrote to you,” Jinhyuk started the conversation with. He gestured at his son to take a seat, Seonghwa did as instructed. Jinhyuk pushed the letter towards him. “Have you two kept secrets of me? Talked without my knowledge?”

Seonghwa’s heart sank. He couldn’t fathom for what reason his mother might be writing to him, except to wonder how he was doing. By now, the news of the dead Shadowhunters must have reached Idris. With shaking hands he took the letter.

> _Alicante, Idris_
> 
> _November 15th 1899_
> 
> _My dearest Seonghwa,_
> 
> _with a heavy heart I write to you. It has not been easy receiving all these news from New York. The nights I have spent sleepless, wondering and hoping you will be all right, my son._
> 
> _I heard Yunho’s cousin died. I hope it is not dragging him down too much, he is such a wonderful kid. It is heartbreaking to lose family, a difficult loss to deal with, please do take good care of him._
> 
> _I am afraid that my letter might not bring you much comfort in these trying times. I apologize to burden you with these heavy news, but I needed you to know before I make it official. I am divorcing your father. I have yet to discuss this with him, I dread the moment he will be back from New York, it is not an easy conversation to have, as you can imagine._
> 
> _I do not want you to choose sides, I will try my best to make it as civil as possible. I cannot imagine it will go well, you know how your father is._ _I know you have developed a strong sense of loyalty towards him, but I ask of you not to tell him just yet. I am aware it is a lot to ask._
> 
> _I shall not take any more of your time, but please write back whenever you find some time to yourself._ _I can only pray to the Angels that you will survive this and capture whoever is responsible for all this pain and death._
> 
> _Be strong and be kind._
> 
> _With much love,_
> 
> _Eunae_
> 
> _PS: Don’t forget to eat well and rest. It is as important as your Shadowhunter duties!_

A loud ringing sound filled his ears as he reread the letter over and over again, his eyes catching onto specific sentences as his vision blurred out: _I am divorcing your father_ , _you know how your father is_ , _you have developed a strong sense of loyalty towards him_ … 

It felt as though someone had forced him to down a bitter drink, the need to retch impossibly strong. But in front of his father he remained collected, swallowing once, as he pushed down his uneasiness.

Seonghwa looked up from the letter, straight at Jinhyuk, finding those same icy cold eyes, anger buried deep within them.

“This letter was addressed to me,” Seonghwa spoke, terrified.

“That hardly matters,” Jinhyuk dismissed him. “I want to know if you and your mother have been _conspiring_ against me?”

Seonghwa’s fingers twitched. “No. We have not. I barely have had time in my days to write to her,” he answered honestly. “I was not aware she would—” he broke off, the words getting stuck in his throat.

Jinhyuk stared him down, his face hardened. Under his penetrative gaze, Seonghwa found himself faltering, all of these lies he had told his father, the truths he had kept to himself, they were now pouring out of him—not in words, but Jinhyuk could tell. 

“But _you_ have conspired against me,” his father stated.

Seonghwa was a coward because he simply nodded his head, ashamed and guilty. He wasn’t certain he felt more guilty about having lied to his father or that he was disappointing Yeosang, Yunho, and the others. 

The internal battle on who to trust was stronger than ever.

“I should have known,” Jinhyuk muttered under his breath. “You were not ready for something this big. I gave you an easy task, Seonghwa. All I asked was for you to infiltrate their little group, discover what secrets they hide, what monstrosities go by that the Council has oddly looked past all these months—since Hajoon’s crimes. Miss Bae was never to be trusted to run the Institute alone, it hasn’t been done before and it shouldn’t have been done now.”

His tangent carried on, but it was met by unhearing ears. Seonghwa’s mind was loud and fast, any moment now he was sure the ceiling of the room would collapse on top of them; or the shadow perched on the desk, cackling loudly, would swallow him whole. He could feel his skin grow sensitive, the texture of his clothes rough and harsh; his breathing sounded too loud in his own ears, as if he had run or trained for hours without a break; and his eyes, when he glanced around the room, couldn’t catch onto a single furniture or object displayed in front of him, everything was blurred and at the same time the colors were too vivid.

“—Are you listening to me?” Jinhyuk interrupted himself, growing aware of Seonghwa’s panicked state. He let out a long sigh, getting out of his chair to stand behind Seonghwa. He placed his hands on his son’s shoulders, gently squeezing them once. “Look at what they did to you, confusing you and making you _weak_. I only ever wanted the best for you, Seonghwa. I had such high hopes for you, to take over this Institute as co-Head, the youngest in history,” he began telling, his voice soft and caring all of a sudden. “I wanted for you to solve this case, be met with honor and respect once we returned to Idris. Our family has gone far too long without glory…” He let out a sigh, dropping his hands. 

He circled the chair Seonghwa was seated in, standing now right in front of him, but Seonghwa couldn’t really see him, only make out his shape. Jinhyuk kneeled then, taking the letter to put it back on his desk. He took the hand on which Seonghwa had his ring, he tapped it twice, gaining Seonghwa’s attention. The silvery reflection stung in his eyes, but strangely it dragged him out of his spiral. 

“There is still hope, Seonghwa, for you to achieve what I envisioned for you, for our family. I only ever wanted what is best for you,” he repeated, pulling away completely this time to take his previous seat. He crumbled the letter, throwing it into the fireplace, where it landed on a pile of dry wood.

Seonghwa kept his eyes on his family ring, his thoughts wandering to Yeosang’s ringless fingers. Yeosang never had understood it, the duty and weight behind such a ring, the commitment of it. How could he possibly understand Seonghwa’s dilemma, his battles and fights. The choices he was meant to take, they weren’t easy, they were tied to his family. 

Seonghwa didn’t have the freedom Yeosang had.

They weren’t the same, in any way; how could he have believed that? How could he have seriously considered joining Yeosang’s side? How could he have allowed himself to develop fondness towards Yeosang?

Before he knew it, tears were rolling down his cheeks, a violent shudder nearly knocking him off his chair.

“Now, now,” Jinhyuk said, shaking his head. “We all are tempted to carelessness and wrong doings, only the strongest of us come back from such a dark path.” He didn’t make a move to comfort Seonghwa, instead he handed him a handkerchief, their family crest stitched into the bottom right. It felt like just another tear at Seonghwa’s already tormented mind.

**~*~**

When the High Warlock of Queens opened the door of his apartment, Yeosang and Yunho rushed in shivering. No doubt, winter was upon them. Yeosang swore he caught a promising whiff of snow in the air.

Mingi sat on the large sofa, holding an expensive looking wine glass filled with a burgundy liquid that definitely was not wine. Yeosang held back his grimace, he didn’t want to make his best friend feel uncomfortable. It wasn’t Mingi’s fault he had been befallen of this cruel fate. It was none of their fault, Yeosang tried to remind himself. Just as prone as Irene was to blame herself, so was Yeosang.

“Mingi—” he began, swiftly approaching his friend. The ex-Shadowhunter had set the glass down in favor of standing up, but someone rushed past Yeosang, nearly knocking him over.

Hongjoong’s arms came around Yeosang, holding him in place.

To both the Shadowhunter’s as well as Downworlder’s surprise, Yunho grabbed Mingi’s face tightly and kissed him so tenderly that Yeosang’s heart squeezed in his chest, wondering if someone would ever kiss him like that. 

Mingi did not appear to be all too surprised by the kiss, leaning in easily and kissing Yunho back as if they had done this a million times before.

A flare of irritation rose in Yeosang, he felt a little betrayed at the idea that Mingi might have kissed Yunho before and hadn’t confided with Yeosang. Then Yeosang reconsidered this irritation, he hadn’t told Mingi about his two kisses with Seonghwa. The second realization that hit him was that this _was_ their first kiss: it was written in the way they were clinging to one another as if they had been lost for years and finally had found the answer.

Yeosang regretted it a little that his first kiss with Seonghwa had been a pretend one, and that their second kiss had been a drunken one. 

“Ah, young love,” Hongjoong swooned, his eyes a little wet. “Always so beautiful and entrancing, is it not?” He turned toward Yeosang.

With difficulty, he said, “Yes. Beautiful.”

When Mingi and Yunho finally separated, the former glanced at Yeosang with a shy look. He let out a low chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. Yunho stepped back, sheepishly smiling when he caught Yeosang staring at them.

“Um,” Mingi muttered. “That was—unexpected.”

Yunho let out a very offended scoff; it was almost comical. “I have been _courting_ you all this time and you—”

Hongjoong laughed. Despite his initial shock, Yeosang felt the corners of his mouth twitch. It was very expected for Mingi to be so clueless; he was invested in art and poetry, loving the mundanes’s most known novels about love and yet he hadn’t realized it when it had been literally in front of him.

“Seems to me we have a reason to celebrate,” Hongjoong chimed in, gesturing with his hands. “Love is always a great occasion for celebration.”

“I am not sure it is quite the right time for it,” Yunho said, briefly glancing at Yeosang. “With everything going on…”

“All the more to celebrate love!” Hongjoong insisted. “But fine, I understand you came to see your friend and inform yourselves about his situation.” He sat down on the couch, near where Mingi had sat moments ago.

“What _is_ his situation?” Yeosang wondered.

Mingi and Yunho squeezed on the couch next to the warlock while Yeosang took one of the seats in the living room. He had full view onto the balcony, the curtains fluttered as a window somewhere in the apartment was opened. His heart rattled a little as he remembered his conversation with Seonghwa.

“I am stable,” Mingi said, but it sounded a little unsure. He looked at Hongjoong, expecting him to explain it better.

“Mingi’s transformation has been a success. He will make quite a unique vampire. Usually, Nephilim choose death over becoming a Downworlder,” Hongjoong said, peculiarly eyeing Mingi, and then Yeosang. “What is complicated is his future: vampires that are not part of a den, do not last very long. They resolve to murder to feed and either are killed by Nephilim or other vampires.”

Mingi grimaced, looking down at his lap. Yunho passed a comforting hand over the vampire’s shoulders, rubbing them. 

“You will be fine,” he said. He turned toward the warlock. “Did you not say Mingi could find a home with Seoho?”

Hongjoong nodded his head. “After Cara’s death, her vampire clan was very divided. Seoho is the new leader of the clan, many follow him as they feared Cara Grant and were tired of her breaking the Accords; but many others have gone to Wallace Grant, believing he will give them what they need,” Hongjoong explained. “Seoho tells me once the situation has calmed down, Mingi is welcomed in his clan. He will have to pledge loyalty to Seoho.”

“Is that what you want, Mingi?” Yunho asked.

Mingi stared at his feet, a little helpless laugh spilling out of his mouth. “None of this is what I ever wanted, but I suppose being part of Seoho’s clan will not be too terrible.”

“He is a good friend,” Hongjoong assured him. He glanced at Yunho. “You can trust him.”

“He has been very helpful,” Yeosang agreed. 

“Mingi will be in good hands,” said Hongjoong more insistently. 

“I believe you,” Yunho said.

Hongjoong readjusted himself. He pointed his accessorized index finger at Yunho and Mingi. “Now, Keonhee brought me a very valuable bottle of wine from Italy. I have been saving it for good company, I believe this would be a great opportunity to open it.”

“I fail to see why not,” Yeosang said. 

Mingi pressed his lips together. “I was never big on wine, but I do miss it already. Drink one for me, too, will you, Yeosang.”

“You do not need to tell me twice, friend,” Yeosang said, grinning.

“Excellent!” Hongjoong sprung up, walking into his kitchen. “Yunho, dear, could you please fetch my guitar. I am in the mood to serenade!”

Yunho exchanged an amused look with Mingi and Yeosang before he got up to fetch the instrument.

“I suppose we are celebrating love after all,” Mingi mumbled. His cheeks couldn’t turn pink anymore, but Yeosang knew if they still could, Mingi would be as red as his hair. 

“You do make an interesting couple.”

Mingi sputtered. “Couple!” he exclaimed as if it was unbelievable. “We only kissed.”

“A kiss opens a door to infinite possibilities.”

Mingi snorted. “How poetic of you, Yeo.”

Yeosang rolled his eyes, accepting the glass of wine Hongjoong offered him, but he thought of his own words, his kisses with Seonghwa flickering in his mind. Indeed a door with infinite possibilities had been opened.

**~*~**

On the way to his private chamber, Yeosang walked past Seonghwa’s, stopping at a distance. He wanted to knock on his door and tell him about Mingi; he wanted to take Seonghwa into his arms and kiss him—not under the pretense of a distraction, not while they had drunk.

As he mulled over in his mind whether he should knock or not, approaching footstep made him turn around. It was Seonghwa, standing gloomily in the hallway and staring at Yeosang with surprise and confusion.

“What are you doing here?”

“We just came back from Hongjoong’s,” Yeosang explained, taking a few steps towards the older. Something seemed off. 

Seonghwa’s eyes were hard, cold. And there was a distant look on his face, like he used to have before they had grown closer, but it seemed so much more impenetrable than ever before. Yeosang worried his bottom lip, fearing that Seonghwa’s talk with his father had not gone well.

Seonghwa held his gaze for a moment before he glanced away and made way towards his chamber. He brushed past Yeosang without acknowledging him further. 

Quickly, Yeosang grabbed Seonghwa’s wrist to stop him. With a worried and slightly fearful tone, he asked, “What happened? What did your father say?”

Seonghwa struggled out of Yeosang’s grasp. “It does not concern you,” he hissed.

Yeosang frowned, feeling dread settle deep in his bones. This wasn’t good, not at all. For the briefest second, the thought that he had now lost Seonghwa too roamed his mind, but he pushed it away. They had grown closer once, they could do it again. Yeosang could push past those walls built up by Seonghwa’s father again. He had to, otherwise—

“Let me go,” Seonghwa said calmly. Once again yanking his wrist out of Yeosang’s fingers, but this time Yeosang held on.

“What did he do to you? What did he say?” he questioned again, insisting.

Seonghwa’s eyes flashed red; angrily he spit out, “Nothing! He did nothing. He is my father.”

“I do not believe that. You were—We were becoming friends.”

Seonghwa scoffed. “Friends. Did you really believe that?”

“Seonghwa,” he said softly. It was more than just his name. “Do not believe what he tells you. You know he is not good. He has done so much damage. He is not a good person, not a good Shadowhunter. Do not just follow him blindly again, I beg of you—”

“You do not understand! I cannot just betray my father!” Seonghwa shouted in despair. Yeosang could almost see the cracks open up beneath Seonghwa’s feet and Hell dragging him far down. “He is my _father_ ,” he repeated with a far-away voice. It seemed that he was trying to hold onto blood, even when he knew it was poisonous and evil. He snapped his eyes towards Yeosang, something in them was dark and rotten. “You can hardly understand. Your father is dead—as is your mother.”

At that, Yeosang let him go. He balled his hands into fists, clenching them so tightly he feared he might draw blood on the palms of his hands. 

“I suppose you are your father’s son after all,” he muttered, feeling utterly disappointed. Not towards Seonghwa, but himself for giving the older Shadowhunter a chance. Bad blood bred bad blood; he had been a fool to believe otherwise. “Go be his peon then. I will do what is _right_. If we cross each other’s paths again, we will do so as enemies. You will have to kill me.”

Seonghwa’s face was completely shut off, a mask covering it that Yeosang had never seen before. This was completely breaking Seonghwa, Yeosang knew as much, and he felt awful for saying these words, forcing Seonghwa to choose so abruptly between trusting him—someone he had disliked for the better part of the past decade—and his own father; his blood. His _family_.

“Do _not_ do this,” Seonghwa whispered suddenly, with a voice so small and raw, and utterly tired. “Please, do not make me choose.”

Distant thunder filled the night’s silence, and now tension, making the Institute’s windows rattle. Yeosang didn’t know what to say. He wanted to reach out his hand, take Seonghwa into his arms and hug him. He wanted to tell him that it would be fine, but he didn’t know that with certainty—he didn’t even know if Seonghwa and him would end up on the same side once this nightmare came to an end. There was no way of telling.

So he stood still, his fists still tightly clenched by his sides, as he stared at Seonghwa with a vulnerability he almost cowered from.

“I know—I know my father is wrong. I know he is most likely working with Mr Grant, but he is—he is my father! My family!” he shouted, his voice breaking and cracking through the syllables. His throat tightening as if he had swallowed a rock, as though he hadn’t gotten a drop of water in years.

Yeosang noticed not for the first time those words: _his family_ —Seonghwa’s family. The insistence in which he repeated them, in which he desperately, but failing to do so, tried to explain and justify why he couldn’t give up on his father. Yeosang couldn’t quite understand it: this blind loyalty. But perhaps it wasn’t that exactly, it was more of the sense that he was holding onto something—a lie, a memory, a _wish_ —that he had lost a long time ago and hadn’t dared to mourn yet. 

Maybe not even fully realizing he had lost it.

“ _Seonghwa_ ,” Yeosang muttered helplessly. His anger was seeping out of him in waves, it was draining and exhausting, a headache forming behind his eyelids, his balled fists loosening up. 

He felt so numb and empty all of a sudden. He just wanted their fight to end, but it appeared that Seonghwa wasn’t going down easy. He readied himself anew, with a blanch and tear smeared face, his emotions reflected in his pained eyes, the twist in his lips… 

“ _Please_ ,” Seonghwa begged, as if he asked of Yeosang not to sway him, not to change his mind, not to make him see.

Yeosang knew how hard it was to accept the truth. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like, though, if it had shaped your entire life. Seonghwa had lived according to his father’s expectations, following his rules and beliefs, and now they were crumbling. But not just that, Park Jinhyuk was unraveling to be a monster, more than they all had expected him to be.

“Can you not see I want—?” Yeosang stopped himself abruptly, terrified of the words that would have followed, instead he continued, “Can you not see we are on the same side. We both want these horrors to stop. We want to capture Wallace Grant and end this. Your father… Your father does _not_ want that, he wants power. He is a greedy man. Please, do not side with him,” he added the last bit quietly, his voice nearly breaking. “We need you. _I_ need you.”

This seemed to drag Seonghwa out of whatever catatonic state he had been in. He blinked at Yeosang and just like that the mask was gone, the red anger in his eyes vanished, and he stood there with just his skin and bones.

Just Seonghwa.

The boy Yeosang had once hated, that he now had come to love.

“Please, do not leave my side,” Yeosang whispered, hoping Seonghwa could hear how important he was to him.

“I—I,” Seonghwa tried to speak but faltered.

In a last, desperate attempt to get through to him, Yeosang surged forward, his hands coming up on each side of Seonghwa’s face, and he kissed him. There was no excuse, no way to justify this kiss aside from the truth. And the truth was that Yeosang loved Seonghwa, and that he needed him there. He desperately hoped he could convey that through the kiss.

Yeosang had his eyes closed, solely focusing on the feel of those soft lips against his, parted in a silent gasp. For a moment, Seonghwa didn’t move—and Yeosang feared he would be pushed away—but then the older kissed him back fervently.

The kiss tasted salty, from Seonghwa’s tears, and felt raw, with Yeosang’s unspoken emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii, I'm so sorry it took me forever to update this! My dad got a really bad heart attack which made me really anxious so I left my job and ended up moving back to my hometown, and even before that I was struggling with a depressive episode... Since this fic requires a lot of time plus it's also very emotionally heavy, I really couldn't focus on it. I'm slowly coming back to it and finishing the last chapters so hopefully I can update more regularly from now on!! 
> 
> I hope everyone has been doing well :( ily <3
> 
> -jack💛


	13. Evil Lives On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> San also kept dreaming of his childhood, before he had been delivered on the steps of the Institute of Busan: the green trees and the numerous, colorful flowers of his homeland; the cold eyes of his mother, resentful and full of anger…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> introducing.... San's POV !!!

**Seoul, October 29th 2019**

As per usual during the mornings at the Institute of Seoul, the young Shadowhunters were gathered at the large table in the dining hall. The cook had set up a variety of dishes, all made for mouths to water. San found himself seated between Gunhak and Jongho, Yerim sat in front of him. The two of them kicked each other subtly under the table: both were eyeing the last piece of almond cake.

Yerim squinted her eyes, her chin tipped up. She grinned. It was her mischievous grin, the one that ran in the Choi family. San didn’t like it one bit.

“San, could you pass me the blueberry jam?” Wooyoung asked suddenly.

San startled out of his footsie competition with Yerim and nodded his head. He leaned forward and handed Wooyoung the marmalade. He realized then that he had lost his chance: Yerim was grinning widely around her fork, the last piece of almond cake on her plate.

Wooyoung looked a little guilty, smearing the blueberry jam on his toast and avoiding San’s eyes.

San scoffed. 

“Not my fault,” Yerim spoke while chewing, a piece of cake flying onto the table. She didn’t look ashamed about it.

“Gross,” Jimin chastised her. She glanced around, addressing the all year around occupants of the Institute. “Where are Youngjae and Boah?”

Wooyoung tried to speak, but choked on his toast. He started coughing. Yerim took pity on him and patted his back. 

Wooyoung’s face turned red. 

“Hyung, don’t die,” Jongho said but he laughed. Wooyoung glared at him.

San held back a smile.

“Youngjae came back with his research. Him and Boah are in her office. They’ll inform us about what they have found later. First we have practice to absolve,” Hyejoo explained. 

“I have done a little research of my own,” Jimin began, folding her napkin in her lap. She took a long sip of her tea. “In 1899 they captured, or killed most of the people involved in the dark affairs. Cara Grant, the infamous vampire leader, was killed, as was Alexander Keaton, a warlock and her closest associate. Even if later the head of the operation, Wallace Grant, was killed, they couldn’t capture all of those involved. Many nameless followers escaped.”

“So you think some of them survived; other immortal Downworlders,” Hyunjin said, her voice trembling.

Jimin nodded.

“We will have to wait until Youngjae reveals what he has found,” Hyejoo insisted. “With the background check we should find something. It’s impossible something like this goes by unnoticed.”

“If not, we will have to interrogate that warlock again,” Gunhak said. “He seemed to be very well informed, being involved and all back then.”

“Do you reckon he held back information?” Wooyoung questioned. 

San could see him frown. Wooyoung liked Hongjoong. San wasn’t all too sure about the warlock himself. He seemed nice, but as Gunhak insinuated, he might have held back information. There was the elusive vampire leader too. The one they yet had to meet. Seoho had been a great help so far, speaking for his leader, but to San it appeared strange that the leader wasn’t showing himself. 

He voiced this out-loud.

“Maybe he has a good reason,” Wooyoung tried.

“I don’t know, hyung,” Jongho said, a troubling look on his face. “When we went to their den, it was very strange. The leader didn’t want to meet us. Seoho and Hongjoong insisted we don’t disturb him. He’s grieving and he doesn’t hold positive memories to the Institute of Seoul; whatever that means.”

“Well, he’s a vampire. I doubt _any_ Downworlder holds good memories to a Nephilim Institute,” San said.

Jongho shook his head. “There was more to it…”

“What do you mean?”

Jongho looked at the Shadowhunters around him, growing a little self-conscious. “I don’t know,” he stammered. “It was almost… personal?”

Wooyoung frowned, staring into his half empty mug of coffee. “Didn’t this Institute once belong to the Jung’s? Specifically, Jung Yunho’s mother?”

Jimin nodded her head. “I read about that too. Unlike any other Shadowhunter burial, especially for a traitor, they buried Yunho here, in the Institute’s garden.” 

“Yes, I stumbled upon that odd request as well,” Wooyoung said. “I read about the 1899 Shadowhunters. One of the residents of the International Institute of New York was turned into a vampire. Instead of choosing death he lived on as a Downworlder. He was a close friend of Yunho, at least before turning.”

San’s eyes widened. “You don’t think that vampire is the grieving leader?”

Wooyoung shrugged. “It could be him. And if he’s the same Downworlder Yunho got banished for, it would make sense he doesn’t want anything to do with us.”

“That’s… That’s so sad,” Hyunjin whispered.

“I can’t imagine how bad it must have been at the time, the relationship between Shadowhunters and Downworlders, for their lives to be so unhappy,” Hyejoo said, shaking her head. “I hope he finds peace one day.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Jimin said. “We don’t know if that is the truth. These are just speculations.”

Gunhak agreed wordlessly.

“I suppose we _will_ have to interrogate Hongjoong further,” Yerim said. “I like him. He’s cool.”

Gunhak scoffed. “It’s all that warlock flair.”

Even if they had stayed a little over two weeks at the Institute of Seoul already, San hadn’t gotten around to unpacking yet. His luggage was in the center of the room, opened and in a state of disarray. The desk as well as his closet were catching dust, the bookcases mostly empty. 

They had to pack in a hurry when they had left Busan, the Shadowhunters of Idris had urged them through the portal as they had taken care of the monsters attacking the Institute. 

It was a blur in San’s mind. He’d barely had time to pack his clothes, stele, and preferred weapon before he had been pushed through the portal to Idris.

Even if it had been weeks since then, San still had trouble sleeping well. Especially now that he knew that the attack on the Institute of Busan hadn’t been a one time thing, that this wasn’t a new kind of monster, and that Seoul was just in as much danger. San also kept dreaming of his childhood, before he had been delivered on the steps of the Institute of Busan: the green trees and the numerous, colorful flowers of his homeland; the cold eyes of his mother, resentful and full of anger… 

Without thinking, he passed his fingers over the skin behind his left ear, where he had the tattoo of a butterfly. He thought of his father, whom he never had met, and his mother, who had discarded him. He mourned them both, the idea of loving parents.

“Are you sure you’ll be fine without taking any?” his _parabatai_ asked.

San dropped his hand. He glanced at the silver box by his night stand, possibly the only thing he had grabbed with a rational mind when he had fled the Institute of Busan, precariously wrapping it in a t-shirt before he had put it in his luggage.

“I’ll be fine,” he told Yerim. 

She stopped inspecting her nails and turned her calculative gaze on him.

“What if you collapse again? Wooyoung was very worried. What if he discovers—”

“ _I’ll be fine_ ,” San repeated.

“You’re the one that is scared of people discovering your secret.” She approached him and with a much softer tone, she said, “I’m just looking out for you. I don’t want you to get hurt. Remember how Gunhak first reacted…”

“I know,” San said, flinching. 

When he had collapsed in the training room a few days ago, he had been foolish. Wooyoung’s concerned gaze and his worry, it almost had moved San into spilling out his secret. Possibly due to his incapacity to lie since was partly faerie, but another voice told him it was because Wooyoung seemed like a very trustworthy person.

San shook his head, dissipating this thought. He had only _just_ met him, he couldn’t afford himself to trust the Shadowhunter so quickly and easily. He knew, better than most, not to trust Nephilim. At least not Nephilim that came from notorious families such as Wooyoung himself, the Jung’s had a long line of strong willed and minded Shadowhunters, often with seats in the Council and that weren’t too fond of Downworlders. Although, the Jung family hid many skeletons in their closet, as they recently had been discovering. Wooyoung’s mother was such a case too, running away from the Shadow World and turning her back on her only child.

“We should go to training before Jimin kills us,” Yerim said, dragging San out of his thoughts.

With a lingering stare, he turned his back on the silver box. He’d be fine. He had gone without feeding his addiction for longer periods these days, he was making progress. His collapse a few days ago was just an unfortunate situation, it didn’t mean he needed it.

Consciously, he passed a hand through his hair, it had grown longer. If he squinted his eyes, he could make out the white strands. They had been the first of many wake up calls.

Everyone else was already in the training room: Hyejoo and Hyunjin fighting one another just like Jongho and Wooyoung were, their seraph blades bright in the morning light; Jimin was training with her throwing knives, her muscular arms enunciated as she was wearing a sleeveless shirt; and Gunhak was practicing archery, his weak point.

It was a rainy day so there was no sunshine to make the drawings on the windows bathe the room beautifully, instead it looked as if the Shadowhunters painted on the windows were crying.

But even without the beautiful colors, San was entranced by Wooyoung. He was about as tall as Jongho, but they were built very differently: Jongho was all muscles and broad shoulders, using his force in powerful hits; Wooyoung, on the other hand, didn’t look like much, but he moved swiftly and silently, like a ghost almost, but he was clumsy too. Maybe not in battle, as all his strikes were precise and calculated, but San had seen him move outside of battle, he’d seen him drop objects and stumble over his feet, and make stupid jokes that had everyone groaning. 

The more he stared, the more he realized he had gotten to know Wooyoung in the short time they had spent together, yet there was so much more for him to discover about the young Shadowhunter still. 

But mostly, San realized he found Wooyoung incredibly endearing. 

Yerim pushed him softly, making him stumble into the training room.

“You’ll catch roots,” she said.

“Ha ha.”

“How nice of you to finally join us,” Gunhak said, eyebrows raised.

As the oldest, Jimin and Gunhak tried very hard to appease to the Shadowhunters of the Institute of Seoul. San believed they might be scared they’d be kicked out for unruly behavior. 

“We were discussing San’s… uh, _you_ _know_ ,” Yerim said, doing vague gestures with her face such as widening her eyes and pressing her lips together.

“Very explanatory, thank you, Yerim,” San muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Oh…” Gunhak bit his lip nervously. None of the Shadowhunters from Seoul had noticed the exchange though. “Are you doing okay?”

San let out an exasperated sigh. “Yes!”

He knew they all meant well, but it made him feel like a broken thing. A child that needed constantly to be looked after. 

San walked over to Gunhak, taking the bow and quiver out of his hands. He shot him a cocky grin.

“Let the professional handle this.”

Gunhak rolled his eyes, but let San continue with archery.

The first time San had used a bow it had been when he still had lived with his mother, in the Seelie Court. It had been smaller than the one he was using now, and the arrows didn’t have pointy tips. His mother had insisted he learn the art of archery.

“It’s so much more graceful than those blades the Nephilim use,” she used to say. “The arrow will only hit its target if you have patience. Sadly not many possess it.”

 _Patience_ ; that was easy for his mother to say. After all she lived in a place time passed differently. A mortal couldn’t afford patience, life passed too quickly.

San breathed in, controlling the anger that appeared any time he held a bow and remembered his mother, and closed one of his eyes. When he let go of the arrow, it pierced the air, whistling until it hit the bull’s eye. San didn’t need patience if he had precision.

“Nice shot!” Wooyoung called out, impressed.

San smiled at him. “Thank you.”

“Would you look at that,” Yerim said quietly, only for San to hear.

“Look at what?”

“That silly smile on your face.”

San glared at her. “It was _not_ a silly smile. It was a regular smile.” He attempted another one. “See, just like that one!” But Yerim only laughed, waggling her eyebrows.

**~*~**

Once again the Shadowhunters were seated in Boah’s study, those that hadn’t been quick enough to secure a seat were leaning either against the fireplace or the windowsill. Hongjoong was present as well, as was Seoho. 

They all awaited Boah to speak.

“Youngjae came back with his research. He dug into the list of Shadowhunters that visited the Silent City in the past couple of months,” she began, folding her hands in her lap. “We have found one concerning link that could be a promising lead. Park Beomhyuk is a distant relative of Park Jinhyuk, who was the Shadowhunter that worked with Wallace Grant in 1899. We believe Beomhyuk might have been the one to steal the scrolls and continue what Jinhyuk couldn’t finish.”

“That little—” Seoho started swearing.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Jinhyuk somehow managed for his evil deed to live on, even after his death,” Hongjoong interrupted him, a sinister look crossed his face. “He was a very horrible man. His son, Seonghwa, had a very hard time breaking free of his chains.”

“How is Park Beomhyuk related to him?” Jimin asked. “Is he Seonghwa’s son?”

Hongjoong shook his head, waving his hands. “No. Gods, no! Seonghwa didn’t have children.”

“Beomhyuk is directly related to Brother Akoni. Before the Silent Brother joined the Brotherhood, he had a child. Jinhyuk is Beomhyuk’s great-great-great-uncle,” Youngjae explained.

Hongjoong and Seoho had very bitter looks on their faces. 

“Does he work alone?” Hyunjin voiced what they all were wondering.

Boah shook her head. “We believe he got some help. We aren’t entirely sure yet. None of the bigger Downworlders that had helped Wallace Grant at the time survived,” she said, glancing at Hongjoong and Seoho for affirmation. “But many of those that believed in Grant’s work hid in the shadows. Beomhyuk could have very much gotten their help.”

“I’ll look into it,” Hongjoong promised. “I have old notes from 1899, and the years past that, as we followed the trail for a long time. I will see if I find anything of importance.”

Seoho had his lips pressed together, as if he wanted to say something, but he exchanged a meaningful glance with Hongjoong.

“I shall give my best too,” the vampire said instead. “I am meeting Changbin and Ravn tonight, I’ll inform them of these developments and ask for their help.”

Boah inclined her head gratefully.

“If there is any way we might be of help to you, please let us know,” Youngjae said. “In the meantime, we’ll try to locate Park Beomhyuk’s whereabouts too. The last time he was seen was during his stay in the Institute of Mumbai, but he left earlier than planned. No one is sure what he has been up to since then.”

“I’ll be on it!” Hyejoo exclaimed, raising her hand. “Maybe Hyunjin could aid me. She’s proven to a very good researcher.”

Hyunjin let out an embarrassed squeak but nodded her head in approval.

Seoho cleared his throat. “I would like to ask for a favor,” he started. “Our leader left last night on a trip to New York. He won’t be back until in a few days. There have been more attacks of these monsters near our den, targeting several Downworlder establishments… Our den doesn’t feel safe anymore: we would like guards. From dawn until dusk, at least. Maybe if we have Nephilim guarding our doors, the attacks might stop. Just like in 1899, Downworlders were the first to suffer from these attacks, with disappearances and killings.”

Youngjae and Boah considered his words, exchanging a look. “Jongho and Wooyoung are excellent warriors, they could guard the den,” Boah offered. 

Wooyoung immediately nodded his head. He had been dying to get out of the Institute, but Jongho was a little hesitant.

“Yerim and I could come along too,” San spoke up. Wooyoung glanced at him, his stomach did a funny drop. “Better to have more guards, right? And there would still be enough Shadowhunters to guard the Institute in case someone targets it.”

“I don’t see why not,” Boah agreed. “I will write to the Council to let them know about these attacks. Perhaps they will, for once, come to our help.” She sounded tired and irritated. 

Wooyoung couldn’t blame her, the Council hadn’t done much to defeat these monsters, unsurprisingly so. Ever since that attack on the Institute of Busan, these monsters had primarily attacked Downworlders, meaning the Council didn’t like to get their hands dirty for something they deemed as unnecessary. It was unfair.

 _So much for the Accords_ , Wooyoung thought bitterly.

Seoho expressed his gratitude.

“I will tell one of our vampires to welcome you once you arrive. I believe you remember where the den is?” Seoho addressed Jongho.

“Yes. We will be there as quickly as we can,” Jongho promised.

“Is there anything else to discuss?” Boah inquired. There were vague gestures of negation. “Alright. I would like to talk to Hongjoong alone.” She waved her hand at the young Shadowhunters, indicating them to leave. “It’s about your request,” she added, addressing the warlock.

Youngjae and Seoho left her study as well, the former accompanied the vampire to the Sanctuary, where Hongjoong had opened the portal they had used to travel to the Institute as it was still daylight and Seoho couldn’t walk outside.

Wooyoung was dying to stay and hear what Hongjoong had requested from Boah, but he let Jongho drag him away from the Head’s study. 

“We should gear up. I’m sure Seoho wants us at the den as soon as possible,” Jongho said.

“Sanctuary in twenty? Race you!” Yerim suggested. She sprinted ahead, grinning when Jongho complained.

San watched them disappear up the stairs, laughing. Yerim yelled at him to hurry up, but San lazily waved his hand in the air. “I’m too old for this!”

Wooyoung snorted. “Pff.”

San raised his eyebrows. “What’s so funny?”

“‘I’m too old for this’,” he mimicked him. "What’s next? Complaints about noise?”

San grinned. “Maybe.”

Even if Wooyoung had gotten considerably better at ignoring San’s otherworldly beauty, it still struck him when the other would smile at him like that: with his teeth showing, dimples carved into his skin, and his eyes crinkling. He smiled and laughed with so much joy, looking at Wooyoung with so much adoration. But that was San’s thing, looking at someone, really _looking_ at them. 

He was still mysterious and slightly distant, but, by the Angel, he was warm too. He was _warmth_ impersonated.

Wooyoung realized that maybe the only reason why San was so mysterious was because Wooyoung thought of him as a mystery. Someone like Choi San ought to harbor many secrets.

“What about you?” San asked. Wooyoung tilted his head in confusion. “Why aren’t you racing them?”

“Well, I couldn’t leave an old man, such as yourself, alone.” He pretended to grab San’s elbow, as he had seen many mundanes do with elderly people, to guide him up the stairs.

“How kind of you,” San swooned.

“If your legs are too weak tell me and I’ll carry you,” he said boldly, only regretting it a little bit—mostly because a terrible blush spread over his cheeks.

San didn’t seem to notice, he only rolled his eyes. “Ha ha. Very funny.” He playfully punched Wooyoung. “Come on. We shouldn’t leave Seoho waiting for too long.”

**~*~**

**Seoul, November 1st 2019**

As he had promised, Hongjoong moved Heaven and Hell in trying to find Park Beomhyuk’s whereabouts, and located his latest apartment in Seoul, between Yongsan Park and the Han River; but that wasn’t all, he had discovered that Beomhyuk definitely wasn’t working alone. Thankfully, none of Seoul’s influential Downworlders seemed to be aiding him. It was someone that dated way back, possibly to 1899.

“I have Ravn on the case,” Hongjoong said through the phone. “He has many eyes. I’m sure that in no time we will know who has been helping Beomhyuk.”

Wooyoung hummed. “Anything from Seoho?”

Wooyoung was leaning against one of the many windows of the old apartment block. It looked fancy, where celebrities would live, but the closed curtains gave it an isolated and slightly off-putting atmosphere. Of course, Wooyoung knew why that was the case. This apartment block housed one of Seoul’s biggest vampire clans; they had established in Seoul around the 1920’s as Wooyoung had discovered through Hyunjin, one of the vampires that lived inside. 

Hyunjin looked young, but he was over a century old. He had travelled to many places around the world, and, most surprising to Wooyoung, he too had been present during the dark affairs happening in 1899, though he didn’t like to speak of them. Wooyoung wondered if all the vampires in the den had migrated from New York to Seoul at some point, running away from their shadowed past only to bump into it anew.

It was late afternoon and soon the young Shadowhunters would be done with their guard duty. Jongho and Yerim were a few meters away, on the other side of the street, while San was standing close by and inspecting his arrows.

In the past two days, they had encountered multiple of those strange monsters: vampires that could walk in daylight and couldn’t be killed with a stake through their heart; werewolves that carried seraph blades; mundanes that were demonic… They looked wrong, and almost as if they begged to be killed and put out of their misery. 

Wooyoung wondered how many of them had willingly agreed to be experimented on. Then he pushed that thought away, shaking as he imagined those poor souls’s suffering.

Jongho hadn’t lied when he had said they were hard to kill, but the young Shadowhunters were slowly finding weak points.

“I still haven’t heard from Seoho,” Hongjoong answered. Seoho had vanished two days ago in the search of Beomhyuk’s whereabouts. After the warlock and Shadowhunter tracking had failed, Seoho had gathered some of his best vampires to track Beomhyuk down. “But the leader is very grateful that you are guarding his den.”

“That’s something,” Wooyoung said. He thought about their morning discussion a few days ago, when they had wondered about the identity of this vampire leader. “Will we ever meet him?”

“Perhaps. This entire ordeal has become a lot more personal to him now. He knew Park Jinhyuk personally… Once he is back from New York, I will talk to him again. Maybe he would like to meet you after all.”

A loud crash in the distance startled Wooyoung. Jongho and Yerim already jogged up the street. San urged Wooyoung to hang up.

“I should hang up, there is something up ahead,” he told the warlock.

“Hold on!” Hongjoong called out. “I have information about a possible Nephilim ally to Beomhyuk. Come to my apartment once you are done guarding. I will text you the location.”

Wooyoung hung up, storing the phone in his trousers.

“We shouldn’t leave the den,” San said, his bow armed. He glanced into the distance, where the crash had come from. “It could be a diversion.”

Wooyoung nodded. “ _Sanvi_ ,” he whispered, his seraph blade lighting up. He looked up at the sky. “It’s almost dusk.”

There wasn’t movement on the street, no movement _at all_. It was suspicious. Usually, there would be mundanes driving around or walking down the street at this hour, coming home from work.

“Something’s up,” he whispered.

San hummed.

A loud howl came from behind the vampire den, where a large parking lot was situated. The two Shadowhunters quickly jogged around the building, their weapons prepared.

They found two of Changbin’s werewolves fighting with several of the abominations. Wooyoung quickly ran over, swinging his blade, while San stayed behind, tensing his bow. An arrow shot past Wooyoung, right into the head of a demonic human. The monster wailed, flinging its arms before it exploded, ichor and blood drenching its companions, missing the werewolves by a little. 

A half-vampire, half-faerie jumped onto Wooyoung, baring its fangs, but Wooyoung ducked just in time, burying his blade into the monster’s abdomen. It staggered backwards, groaning in pain. Wooyoung surged forward and cut its head clean off, blood splattering his leather gear. If nothing seemed to kill them, the safest bet was to always cut off their heads clean. _No one_ could survive that.

“Gross,” he muttered under his breath.

Another crash sounded in the distance, like an explosion. He turned to the source of the noise, alarmed. San paled, a scared look on his face.

They exchanged a look, nodding at one another. First, take care of the monsters around them, then, they’d come to Jongho and Yerim’s aid.

Even if they were four against eight, they took out the abominations fairly quickly. The werewolves bowed their heads in gratitude before they entered the vampire den. Wooyoung noticed one of them had a note attached to its neck.

Without words, San and Wooyoung ran back to the main street, up to where Jongho and Yerim had disappeared to.

“Wooyoung, wait!” San called out, his voice alarmed. “You’ve got ichor on your leg. If it gets through the leather, it’ll—”

Wooyoung stopped, cursing. He walked to a nearby puddle of water, kneeling so he could splash the dirty water onto the ichor and get rid of it.

“You also have a deep cut on your arm,” San continued, stele in hand. He approached Wooyoung, placing one of his hands on Wooyoung’s neck to push the collar of his jacket and shirt aside. He quickly drew a Healing rune on the back of Wooyoung’s neck. 

Wooyoung flinched, partly because of San’s unfamiliar hand on his neck and partly due to the familiar sting of the rune.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Yeah, no problem,” San said, his breath fanning over Wooyoung’s cheek. He leaned away then, storing his stele and grabbing his bow, which he had discarded on the ground. He did a sweep of the area, his eyes latching onto the vampire den. “I don’t know if we should leave it.”

“But… Yerim and Jongho,” Wooyoung said, worriedly looking into the direction the explosion had happened.

“I know,” San said. “Something feels off though.”

Wooyoung couldn’t deny that. Dusk was drawing closer and closer, yet the streets were empty. The usual bustle at the end of a day was missing. It was worrisome. The sudden silence was also concerning, no other explosion sounded, no battling noises came from where their _parabatai_ had disappeared to.

San’s eyes flitted over Wooyoung’s cut, which had healed, it was just another white scar on his skin now.

“I’ll stay here,” San said. “Go check on Yerim and Jongho.”

Wooyoung hesitated, wanting to say something, but no words came. He glanced over San: his bow arched with an arrow, ready to shoot at any suspicious movement; the white strands peeking out from behind his dark hair like the moon above them, half hiding behind clouds; his eyes were nervously latching onto any shadow. 

He looked like a cat, ready to attack. 

San had heightened senses thanks to his Faerie blood. Something _was_ lurking nearby.

“What is it?” Wooyoung asked.

San shook his head. “Go check on our friends. I’ll stand ground. Just…” He looked back at Wooyoung. “Don’t take too long.”

Even if he didn’t like the idea of leaving San alone, Wooyoung sprinted off. He was quiet, his feet making no sound, and his seraph blade glowed brightly in the ever growing closer night. 

He spotted Jongho and Yerim not too far from the vampire den, near a restaurant. The closer Wooyoung got, the more the scent of smoke became prominent. He noticed, startled, that there was a fire inside the restaurant.

“What happened?!” he asked, lowering his blade.

“We’re not sure,” Jongho said. “Something inside exploded. We already called the mundane emergency number. I don’t know if it is linked to our problem.”

“A distraction maybe,” Yerim said grimly. “Where is San?”

“He stayed back. I think he sensed something.”

“You shouldn’t have left him alone,” Yerim said, paling. “He’s been lowering his dose—” she cut herself off abruptly. “We should go back. This doesn’t feel right.”

Without another word, or waiting for Jongho and Wooyoung’s reply, she bounced off, running back to the vampire den.

In the distance, sirens sounded. 

Jongho and Wooyoung took this as a sign to follow Yerim back to San, both of them uneasy due to her words. 

_He’s been lowering his dose,_ she’d said. Wooyoung had a growing suspicion what this meant. He thought back to San collapsing in the training room days ago, and the strands of white hair.

He swallowed his nerves.

They returned to absolute havoc.

San and Yerim stood back to back, fighting a large group of the abominations. Thankfully, the sun had disappeared behind clouds, its last rays for the day swallowed. Vampires had stormed out of the building, followed by the two werewolves belonging to Changbin’s pack.

Valiantly, the Shadowhunters and Downworlders fought against the monsters. Some exploded into a mess of ichor, others fell with their guts torn out by the werewolves, and others had their heads cut off. 

It was a bloodbath. 

Wooyoung’s body ached all over at the exertion. 

Then, all of a sudden, the monsters sprung back into the darkness, fleeing the scene as if the Devil was chasing them off. They were too quick to follow, although some vampires tried.

An eerie silence followed.

“What, in the Angel’s name, was that for?” Yerim asked, wiping some blood off her gear.

“It’s been like that for weeks,” Hyunjin said. “They come and go. Never severely damaging anyone.” He was young, but the look in his eyes told his true age. He seemed tired. “It was the same as it was in 1899. Waves upon waves. It’s a blessing this time no one has died yet.” He looked at the Shadowhunters. “Your kind wasn’t as lucky back then.”

“What do they want?” Wooyoung wondered.

No one seemed to know how to answer.

“You can leave now,” Hyunjin said. “We can take care of them if they come back. You should rest, and heal.” He jerked his chin at the several minor wounds the young Shadowhunters sported. “If we see anything unusual we’ll let you know.”

After healing their wounds with runes and cleaning themselves of any ichor that had gotten on their gear, the four Shadowhunters walked up the street toward Hongjoong’s apartment. They walked past the restaurant, the fire was mostly extinguished already. What Wooyoung supposed were the owners stood nearby, watching with horror. One of them noticed them, nodding her head in gratitude. How she knew they had called the fire department.

 _A Downworlder establishment_ , Wooyoung thought. Seoho had warned them.

These abominations were a sick mix of Downworlder species and yet they targeted Downworlders; it didn’t make much sense. Not unless those that controlled them were Shadowhunters. Park Beomhyuk came from a long line of notorious Shadowhunters, their hatred toward Downworlders carrying on within his blood. He was Park Jinhyuk’s descendant, whom Hongjoong and Seoho hadn’t seemed fond of.

 _No wonder,_ he thought. Jinhyuk had helped create these abominations, but his true goal couldn’t have been to eliminate Nephilim as Wallace Grant had desired when he had started his experiments. Wooyoung was sure Park Jinhyuk might have had hidden reasons for his actions in 1899. Perhaps he had hoped to steal the idea and use it for the benefit of Shadowhunters.

Hongjoong’s apartment was a little, humble thing. Usually, Wooyoung imagined grand mansions or big penthouses filled with antiquities that the immortal would have collected over the years. 

He voiced his thoughts out loud, gaining a laugh from the warlock.

“Oh, I have a mansion in New York,” Hongjoong said, waving his hand in the air as if it was unimportant. “I go there from time to time. When I’m not there, I let friends live there.”

The young Shadowhunters spread out in the living room, each taking a seat around a table that contained a tray with tea and some pastries. There were notes compiled and a photograph half hidden. Wooyoung wanted to grab it, but he refrained himself from doing so. He could make out Hongjoong’s familiar face, and other faces that he was sure he’d seen before. Most likely, when he had researched the Shadowhunters from 1899. He wondered if the elusive vampire leader was on there.

“You said you had news about a possible ally to Beomhyuk,” San said.

Hongjoong nodded his head, squeezing himself between Jongho and Wooyoung. He leaned forward to take his discarded cup of tea. He gently gestured at them to help themselves.

“I did. Another Nephilim,” he revealed carefully. “His name is Aidan Magnus. Irish-American. He vanished around the same time as Beomhyuk.”

“Aidan Magnus?” Wooyoung echoed. “That name doesn’t sound familiar.”

“He doesn’t come from a long line of Shadowhunters like most. His family only dates back a little over a century,” Hongjoong explained. “He has an apartment in New York, I asked my friend, the vampire leader, to check it out. There had been a fire about a month ago. Aidan Magnus made sure there was nothing to track him down.”

Wooyoung cursed.

“Worry not. Before you came, I got news from Seoho,” the warlock continued. The young Shadowhunters eyed him eagerly. “He found Park Beomhyuk. Well, his corpse, that is.”

“ _What_?!” Jongho startled.

“They found a very old lead. They almost discarded it as unimportant, thankfully they didn’t. Park Beomhyuk’s corpse was at the bottom of the Han River, near his apartment. Seoho says it could have been down there for weeks. They’re still trying to figure out how he died and why he was in the river… But it seems he wanted to try one of those experiments on himself and failed tremendously.”

A short and pregnant silence filled the apartment. Their one and only clear lead had died, weeks ago on top of that.

“Well, that’s grim,” Yerim muttered.

San grimaced. “We’re back to square one.”

“Not entirely. If Aidan Magnus is an ally, we’ll find him. He can’t hide forever. We did find Park Beomhyuk.”

“But it took us _weeks_ ,” Wooyoung pointed out. “Who knows what kind of damage could happen until then? The abominations have been quiet, as if they’re preparing for a major strike.”

Hongjoong looked at him, his face darkening. “I agree to that. They’re preparing for a bigger strike. Their goal in 1899 was to eliminate Shadowhunters and Downworlders alike to create a new kind of species. Something powerful, unlike anything that has ever existed. I believe Wallace Grant succeeded back then, but we killed him before he could unleash that evil upon the world. Eventually his creations died.”

“Do you think this time they’ll succeed?” Jongho asked.

Hongjoong shrugged. It was a very strange gesture for a warlock. “It seems odd these abominations are the same failures as they were in 1899. Half-done, half-successful.” He looked thoughtful. “Perhaps they’re a distraction…”

“A distraction to make us think they’re weak, that they don’t know what they’re doing,” San caught on quickly.

Hongjoong nodded.

“We need to find Aidan Magnus, and any other ally Park Beomhyuk might have had,” Wooyoung said darkly. “I don’t like this feeling that we’re two steps behind.”

“We’ll find him,” Hongjoong promised. “We’ll find him and bring justice, once and for all.” 

He sounded bitter, this wasn’t just fighting an evil that was threatening Seoul and its Shadow World, this was an evil that had haunted Hongjoong for over a century, that had once hurt his friends and caused much damage. It was a personal affair to him, Wooyoung realized. An open wound that hadn’t healed properly. The warlock needed to defeat this evil that had lived on, to bring peace to himself and his old friends.

_Once and for all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for 121 kudos!!!🥺💛💛💛💫
> 
> -jack💛


	14. Blood Above Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He came prepared to defeat the giant, _once and for all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a LOT happening in this chapter happy reading!!
> 
> i hope everyone has been well!!<3

**New York, November 18th 1899**

Dusk was falling over New York, thick clouds covering the night sky. The window in his room was opened and the air that filtered inside was icy cold, it carried a promise of snow.

Seonghwa sat on the edge of his bed, twisting his family ring in his hand, he passed his thumb over the two swords that formed an X. 

_Blood above all_. 

It was what he had known for all his life: that family mattered more than anything else. A tightly knit web, but nowadays it felt more like a bramble. The more he tried to move through it, the more its thorns dug into his skin.

His kiss with Yeosang had felt like a drop of freedom, a lit match that burned the tangled shrub off his skin, but it was just a drop in a vast ocean. How could he cling to something so small, so ephemeral? 

Once the mission would be completed, Seonghwa would go to Idris, or wherever his future would take him. If his father was really working together with Wallace Grant, there were many reparations Seonghwa would have to absolve. There’d be so much damage to fix. He couldn’t picture a future in which he’d be happy with Yeosang, he didn’t even know the motives the younger Shadowhunter might hide.

Seonghwa was walking through a field of mist, any direction could be a wrong step.

His thoughts were abruptly stopped by the familiar sound of a bell. Someone was in the Sanctuary, requesting an audition with the Head of the Institute. Curiosity got the best of him. He hesitated, holding his family ring. He couldn’t slide it back onto his finger, it made him sick to his stomach. The ring felt heavy in his hand; _wrong_.

Pocketing the ring, Seonghwa got up from the bed and made his way out of his room, down to the Sanctuary. As expected, he encountered curious Shadowhunters lingering about. They watched Irene walk toward the Sanctuary, her back straightened and chin held high. Yeosang walked behind Irene, his eyes crossed Seonghwa’s. A small tug of his lips let Seonghwa know that their kiss hadn’t been a strange dream.

Yunho, Jinsoul, and Mina joined Seonghwa, all dressed in their fighting gear, sweat covering their skin and clinging to their hair.

Irene disappeared into the Sanctuary alone, Yeosang waited at the door, but he did chance a peek. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. When it was clear that Irene wouldn’t come out any time soon, the curious Shadowhunters returned to their previous activities. Yeosang jogged over to his group of friends.

“It is Hyunjin,” he announced. “I cannot imagine why he would come.”

“Do you think something happened to Mingi?” Yunho asked worriedly.

“If something happened to Mingi, Hongjoong would have visited personally,” Yeosang said.

Yunho sighed, embarrassedly passing a hand through his hair. “Of course. You are right.”

“Maybe Hyunjin remembered something from when he was turned,” Mina spoke up quietly. “After all, he said he had met the Night’s Queen—Cara Grant—and Wallace Grant. Maybe he knows about Mr Grant’s whereabouts.”

“I highly doubt that,” Seonghwa said, his tone sharp. “Mr Grant is like… like smoke. Unable to track down or situate.”

Mina squinted her eyes.

“I am just trying to be optimistic here. Angel knows we need that.”

“Optimism will not solve this,” Seonghwa shot back, annoyed.

Yunho cleared his throat loudly. He glared at both of them, but it was a lot more heated when directed at Seonghwa.

“What is wrong with you?” Jinsoul hissed, her arms crossed in front of her chest as she stood protectively in front of Mina. In that moment, she reminded Seonghwa a lot of Yunho.

Yeosang was staring at Seonghwa apprehensively, as if he was a dangerous creature about to attack. He hated feeling like that, as if he was a threat. But he supposed after their encounter two nights ago it was understandable. The conversation with his father had left him volatile and uncomfortable. At the brink of taking what felt like the most important choice of his life.

“ _Nothing_ ,” he insisted. “Nothing is wrong with me.” But he felt the thorns dig into his skin, scratching him as he tried to escape.

“How about you go ahead, I shall stay with him,” Yunho said. It meant, _I will have a talk with him._ He didn’t need to say it out-loud for the others to understand.

Yeosang hesitated, his eyes still on Seonghwa, but he didn’t look back. He wasn’t sure what he’d find reflected in them—pity? He didn’t need that—and he wasn’t sure what Yeosang would find in Seonghwa’s own eyes—desperation?

Once their friends’s retrieving footsteps had completely faded, Yunho faced Seonghwa.

“What has gotten you into such a foul mood? You have been withdrawing yourself…” He looked concerned as well as a little reproachful.

For the briefest moments, Seonghwa considered shaking Yunho off and claim nothing was wrong, but this was Jung Yunho, his closest friend, the boy he once had wanted to become _parabatai_ with. He couldn’t just turn his back and keep his secrets. He had to confide in someone, someone who wasn’t Yeosang for once.

“My mother wrote to me some days ago,” he revealed. “She is going to divorce my father.”

Yunho’s lips parted in surprise.

“And I—” The words almost got stuck in his throat. “I think my father is working together with Wallace Grant,” he whispered the confession, scared there might be eager ears hidden in the Institute’s walls.

Yunho didn’t look too shocked by that information. He did an excellent job at hiding his true feelings regarding Jinhyuk though.

“Does your father know your mother will divorce him?” he asked.

Seonghwa nodded. “He intercepted her letter and confronted me about it,” he said. “It was… It was not easy.”

“I am sorry, Seonghwa.” Yunho walked up to him, extending his arms so he could hug his friend. Seonghwa stiffened. “I was so entangled in my own worries, I completely missed you were suffering too. I apologize.”

Seonghwa’s chest felt heavy, like his heart was suddenly made out of lead and crashing onto his ribcage. His arms felt heavy too as he swung them around his friend’s shoulders, holding tightly onto Yunho’s shirt. The hug lasted long, Seonghwa’s fingers frozen as he controlled his emotions. If he cried now, he’d crash and burn, and wouldn’t be able to get up for a long time.

But Yunho’s comfort helped.

Their hug was interrupted by Irene, who had exited the Sanctuary. Hyunjin lingered behind her, looking apprehensive.

“Pardon my intrusion,” she started, smiling kindly, “but we have just gotten a very important piece of information from Hyunjin. It might change everything. We might put an end to Mr Grant’s evil.”

Seonghwa inhaled deeply, separating from Yunho.

Capturing Wallace Grant also meant discovering the truth about his father. For the first time, though, he felt ready to take that burden onto himself and break free from the thorns that had held him for so long.

“I shall go get the others,” he said, shooting Yunho a grateful smile. 

The chase led them to a mansion in northern Queens, near the East River shores. A beautiful structure that harbored terrors beyond their imagination.

Geared up, the young Shadowhunters stormed the mansion, finding it eerily empty and quiet. Seonghwa had expected those abominations and demons and other Downworlders guarding the entrance and garden, but they found no resistance. He wasn’t alone in his suspicion, his friends exchanged nervous glances, all high strung and tired. They wanted to believe this was the end of the chase, but it was _too easy_.

Far too easy after all the pain and losses they had endured.

Mingi was between them, stumbling a little with his freshly gained powers as a vampire, but fiercely and unafraid in his new identity. He had adapted quickly, Seonghwa thought, or perhaps he only pretended for the sake of Yeosang—and Yunho.

Yeosang looked like an Angel that had descended from the Heavens with one, clear goal in mind: revenge. Revenge for Hwanwoong’s death, revenge for Mingi’s fate, revenge for his own suffering. It wouldn’t make it stop, and Yeosang knew that. The pain had a permanent home in him, no matter how many he killed, that pain would never leave, but at least he would be able to sleep at night again.

Seonghwa had his own revenge to seek, the one related to his father. He wanted revenge for the years of torment he’d endured. Years upon years, only to lose his father to a power and blood hungry mundane. He knew, one way or another, he would have slipped his family ring off his fingers at some point; these events had just accelerated the process. Still, the wound in his soul hurt.

They stood in the entrance hall of the mansion, the night’s darkness covering them. A web of rainy clouds was forming outside, a rare spectacle of lightning hushing through them.

“He is present,” Mingi said. “He has been expecting us.”

At last, they’d meet Wallace Grant.

Hongjoong snapped his finger, the chandelier above them sprung to live, the candles lining the walls in the room in front of them lit up a living room. It looked cozy: two couches around a small table in front of a fireplace; bookshelves that created a labyrinth they followed toward its end, where a desk stood, papers and books were messily scattered about. A man sat behind the desk, and greeted them with a nasty grin.

He had dark, greasy hair framing a pale face, his green eyes looked sunken, and his cheekbones stood out starkly. He looked like a corpse. He should have looked younger, Seonghwa thought for some reason. He had to be in his early thirties, but he looked so much older, and he looked so foreign to his own mortality as a human.

Something about Wallace Grant was incredibly wrong, as if he’d made a pact with the Devil and his soul was seconds from being reaped.

“Wallace Grant.” Yeosang said the man’s name with so much resentment and anger, that Mr Grant should have been scared. 

Seonghwa shivered.

“It took you long enough,” Mr Grant said, his grin didn’t fade. He was caged, he knew they had been coming, he knew they would capture him.

Seonghwa couldn’t shake the terrible feeling that, despite finding the man behind the operation, they were steps behind.

“We have found you, it is over,” Yunho said, stepping forward. His seraph blade glowed brightly and threateningly, but Mr Grant wasn’t fazed.

“Oh, little Nephilim,” he said despicably. “It has only begun. The roots of my work have spread far and wide enough that you cannot stop them anymore. _Malum erit vobis_.” His eyes glinted as though he had a fever.

“Evil will be upon you,” Yeosang translated, frowning.

“Yes, yes.” Mr Grant nodded his head appreciatively. As if Yeosang was a pupil that had gotten a very difficult answer right, a difficult yet important answer. “Evil… Its source, its purest source cannot be contained. Released into this world, unstoppable, and so beautiful.”

“Enough blabbering,” Hongjoong cut through. He stepped forward, magic sparking from his fingertips. “Stand up, Wallace Grant. You are put under arrest and will be put on trial under Nephilim Law.”

Wallace Grant turned his glassy eyes toward the High Warlock of Queens, laughing amusedly.

“Oh, do you really trust they will take care of it? There is evil even within the Nephilim too, _especially_ the Nephilim. They are so easy to rile up and manipulate, hungry for power and honor… I gave it to them, they will carry out my deeds.” He stood up, offering his wrist to Hongjoong, who, with a swift movement, made handcuffs appear around them. Mr Grant seemed endlessly amused. “Even if you contain me, you cannot contain my work.” He gestured around the empty mansion. “Search all you want, read my work and appreciate it because it will come back to haunt you. All of you.”

Hongjoong’s face was unreadable.

Furiously, and with hot tears streaming down his cheeks, Yeosang slammed the grip of his seraph blade against Wallace Grant’s skull, silencing the man. He raised his arm to repeat his action, but Seonghwa grabbed his forearm tightly, shaking his head.

“We need him alive,” he reminded him. 

Yeosang shivered, anger and pain and relief coursing through him.

“Yunho and I will search the mansion in case there is someone else here,” Mina said.

“There is not,” Mingi said. “I do not catch any other scent aside from Mr Grant’s.”

“Still, better safe than sorry,” Mina countered, sprinting off with Yunho.

Jinsoul looked through the papers on the desk, her face pale and full of disgust.

“I shall contact Irene to tell her we have found him. The Council will be interested in this,” Hongjoong said. 

Seonghwa gently guided Yeosang out of the mansion. Outside, the promise of rain and snow hit them strongly, the rumbling of thunder shook their bones. 

_Evil will be upon you._ It certainly did feel like something had begun, the streets were too quiet and empty. As if a malign power was twisting the world in its hand, shaping its future. _The Devil_ , Seonghwa thought bitterly, the source of all evil. There was no Devil to the Nephilim, but there were demons. Greater Demons. Seonghwa sincerely hoped Wallace Grant hadn’t dabbled with any Greater Demon.

For now, though, it was just them and the storm above their heads.

Seonghwa stepped forward and closed his arms around Yeosang’s shaking shoulders, hugging him tightly. The younger was crying, painful sobs that were buried into Seonghwa’s collarbones, above his heart. 

It took everything in him not to cry too.

He stood with stiff shoulders but soon relaxed, returning the hug. He kept his eyes on the night around them, his chin gently resting on the top of Yeosang’s head, his hair tickling Seonghwa’s chin and jaw, but he did not complain or move.

“It is over,” he whispered; but they both had Wallace Grant’s terrible promises deeply buried in their minds.

And Seonghwa still had to confront his father, his last challenge.

**~*~**

**New York, November 20th 1899**

It proved to be incredibly difficult to maneuver through the day when the enemy was underneath the same roof; granted, Wallace Grant was locked in a room, chained to a seat while two guards stood by his door.

The previous day, Seonghwa had barely gotten anything done. He had been too distracted to absolve his training wholly, too distressed to enjoy the meals… His mind kept swimming with Mr Grant’s words, with the crushing sensation that nothing had been solved, with the terrifying knowledge he had to confront his father soon…

Irene wasn’t letting them partake in the interrogation of Mr Grant. She insisted she’d do this alone with two Silent Brothers, although she promised she’d let them know once she had valuable information.

“I doubt he will say anything,” Yunho said, playing with the handle of his coffee mug.

He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes. He had returned to the Institute about two hours ago, at dawn, after spending the night with Hongjoong and Mingi in Queens.

“He said to read his work. I figure all answers will be in it; will they not?” Jinsoul said.

“Doubt it,” Mina countered. “Why on Earth would he entrust us with the truth?”

“The files we took from his mansion have not exactly proven to be helpful,” Yeosang agreed with his cousin. “Most of it is information we already knew. It is only a detailed version of how he made those experiments, and that is rather disheartening than useful. Plus,” he scrunched his nose, “Wallie is an absolute madman. Most of his writings hardly make sense!”

“I bet it is encrypted,” Yunho brought onto the table. “Only those that know _of_ his plans can read _through_ his madness.”

Seonghwa considered this. “That is actually a fair point,” he said, speaking for the first time that morning. 

He had grown quiet over the past days, introspective and mentally preparing himself for the moment he’d face his father. His friends thankfully hadn’t made a big deal out of it, letting him alone with his thoughts and worries. Yeosang hadn’t pushed him either, sensing that he was going through something that he needed to face alone; that if he did need them, he’d come to them.

“ _Great_.” Mina huffed. “At least he is not going anywhere any time soon. It should give us some time hunting down his experiments and making sure no one gets to read his encrypted notes.”

Their breakfast round was interrupted when the door of the dining hall opened forcefully and Irene stormed inside. Her face was pale and sunken from sleeplessness, her eyes darted around until she found them. Wordlessly, she urged them to follow her. The other Shadowhunters in the hall eyed the exchange, but didn’t question it. They had come to trust Irene and her decisions, seeing that they had managed to capture Wallace Grant. She no longer was fighting two fronts.

Once they were in the entrance hallway, she gestured them to follow her.

“I have got bad news, very bad news,” she said. Her voice sounded like sharp glass. She looked exhausted and a little scared. “I went to check on Mr Grant and found the two guards knocked out. Mr Grant is… is dead,” she revealed as they rounded the corner, where the room was that they had been keeping the mundane in.

“ _What_?!” 

“He is dead?!”

Seonghwa stumbled over his feet, nearly knocking into Yunho, who had stopped abruptly.

“What do you _mean_ Mr Grant is dead?” Mina asked, her voice a few octaves higher.

Seonghwa could see the two bodies of the unconscious Shadowhunters on the ground, the door to Mr Grant’s room ajar. His heart was racing.

“He was killed,” Irene further explained. “I have not checked his body yet. I came to get you immediately.”

“No…” Jinsoul whispered, her eyes wide. “Did you get any useful information from him?”

Irene bit her lip. “Not much. I know now that my brother was a victim of Mr Grant’s. He went insane with demon blood…” She swallowed thickly, her body shivering. 

They hurried to the room, where Wallace Grant’s body was sitting in the chair as they had left him, but he was still, his head tipped back as he stared unseeingly at the ceiling above. Blood was splattered across his shirt, a clean wound where his stomach was. It didn’t look too recent, it had to be a few hours old.

It wasn’t a Downworlder’s way of killing, Seonghwa realized.

“The wound is clearly manmade,” Yunho said, frowning.

“A seraph blade,” Jinsoul said what they were all thinking. “He was killed by someone wielding a seraph blade.”

The blood in Seonghwa’s veins turned cold. His father. 

His father had done this, he had killed Wallace Grant. Was it out of fear of being betrayed by the mundane?

Whatever his reasoning was, Seonghwa would find out. This was the moment he had dreaded for so long. He left the room, ignoring his friends’s questions, and walked up the corridor toward the staircase.

With a determined mind, Seonghwa stormed toward Jinhyuk’s private chamber. His family ring dug into the flesh of the palm of his hand with how tightly he was holding it. The pain was there to remind him of his father’s betrayal, his damage and his hatred. All of which had shaped Seonghwa for so long, but he was prepared now.

He came prepared to defeat the giant, _once and for all._

Without knocking he tore open the door, his father let out a surprised yelp and dropped the cigar he had been holding. It should have been a clue to Seonghwa, smoking was frowned upon by most Shadowhunters as it tampered with their perfect health. Smoking a cigar was a mundane thing; especially a man smoking a cigar, they thought it made them look powerful, in control.

To Seonghwa it was just another tool his father had his betrayal be let known.

“Son, what are you—?” Jinhyuk protested, but his words got cut short.

Seonghwa slammed the family ring onto the table, making an inkwell stumble over. The table slowly became soaked, like blood that had been spilled.

“ _Enough_!” Seonghwa said. “Enough of your games and secrecy. I know what you are up to! _I_ _know_ what you did!”

Jinhyuk looked at him, perplexed.

“I cannot say that I am quite following, son.”

“You murdered Wallace Grant. You were scared he would betray you.” He pushed the family ring toward his father, staining the silver and his own hand with ink. “ _Blood above all_ , is that not it? You risked your family’s name. You risked my future, your marriage… And for what? To be part of a terrible and evil conspiracy of an insane mundane man! Tell me, father, what was the final goal? What did you think you would gain from this?”

Seonghwa let go of the ring, of the significance of family that he had thought and learnt his whole life. He let go of it all.

His hand was soaked with ink, it ran down his arm like dark blood, but he didn’t mind it. He felt like it was appropriate, the ink to rewrite his own fate from now on.

Jinhyuk blinked. He didn’t appear too surprised by his son’s outburst and accusations. For a terrible second, Seonghwa feared he’d made a mistake, that he had just falsely accused his father, but then Jinhyuk started laughing. He shot a baleful look in Seonghwa’s direction before he stood up.

He looked taller somehow, truly a frightful giant.

“I could deny these accusations, have you thrown in the City of Bones for your disloyalty,” Jinhyuk said. “Do you forget my allies are many, and much more powerful than you could possibly fathom?”

“Do _not_ play any games with me. I _know_ you have been working with Mr Grant, just admit to it!”

“If you know, why do you need me to admit to it?”

The grin on Jinhyuk’s face was nasty, shivers ran up and down Seonghwa’s spine. That wasn’t his father, it was a monster. That was Wallace Grant. 

He realized this monster had always disguised itself as his father.

“You will pay for this!” Seonghwa said, drawing out his seraph blade and whispering its name. Its glow made stars appear in the spilled ink. Jinhyuk eyed the blade as if it was a toy. “You have caused so much pain and sorrow, and… And you have destroyed your own family.”

Jinhyuk scoffed. “Your mother is weak, she never understood the greatness of my plans, of the glory I want to bring to our family. She did not understand the discipline I taught you either. I thought you would be on my side… I thought you would be sensible, but I see now, you are just a kid. You hardly know anything about this world, Seonghwa. And you certainly do not know the greatness of my plans, of the seed that mundane has planted.”

Seonghwa felt sick to his stomach, acid burning up his throat but he held his ground firmly. He had to be brave now, he had to be his mother before she’d met Jinhyuk, he had to be Yunho and Mina; he had to be Yeosang. He had to be _himself_. 

He had to act according to his heart, and those beliefs he had always questioned and pushed aside in favor of his father.

“No,” he said firmly, clutching the blade’s grip tightly. “No, you are wrong. I understand more than you think. I understand you acted selfishly, bringing ruin to your family name, ruin to Shadowhunters and Downworlders alike.”

Jinhyuk tilted his head. He laughed. “You are right on that. Ruin… Ruin will come, but you have to have patience. Wallace might have been just a mundane, but his visions were those of an immortal.”

Seonghwa didn’t like the promise of his words, that even if they had defeated Mr Grant and his strongest allies, even if they had found his mansion where all his experiments had taken place, it all had been in vain. As if their actions, thinking they were saving the world from impending doom, had set it free instead.

 _Malum erit vobis_. 

_Evil will be upon you._

He shook his head, moving his seraph blade so the tip was pointing at his father’s throat. He had a chance to put an end to it, to defeat— _to kill_ —the giant, but Seonghwa knew well how irreversible taking a man’s life was. How irreversible patricide was. As a Shadowhunter, death came with the duty. They had to befriend that idea from a fairly young age. And he knew that death wasn’t the worst outcome.

“You shall rot in the Silent City,” he told his father. “You will sit in silence, stripped of your runes, as you wait for the moment death finally takes you,” he promised.

His father looked back at him, in his eyes Seonghwa could see himself. He could see he hadn’t become his father.

“Not yet,” Jinhyuk said. 

He moved with a speed that shouldn’t have been possible, even for a Shadowhunter. He pushed his desk, making it crash into Seonghwa, who stumbled under its weight.

Seonghwa should have seen it coming, considering everything—considering the heartless monster his father was—but the seraph blade that took him by surprise, he dodged it in the last second, crawling out from underneath the desk and kicking out. He slipped on the spilled ink, and noticed a sharp pain shooting up his back. It was unbearable, and made him fall to his knees.

The sharpness didn’t stop, he felt nauseous. 

“This was not what I had envisioned for you, Seonghwa.” Jinhyuk looked at him with contempt. His seraph blade glowed in a red shimmer as Seonghwa’s own blood dripped down from it. He crouched to take Seonghwa’s stele from him. “Pathetic,” he spit out before he fled the room.

His figure became a blurry silhouette, like the shadow that had for so long rested on Seonghwa’s shoulders, laughing at him.

At least, if he died, he did so free of the thorns, Seonghwa thought.

Hot blood trickled out of the fresh wound, down his back. A pool of blood and ink slowly spread out around Seonghwa, tainting the carpet. He tried to call out for help, to alarm someone of Jinhyuk’s escape, but he felt weak. Weak with shock and a burning pain.

He struggled to drag himself toward the door, there was a higher chance of someone finding him out in the hallway than inside a private chamber, but Jinhyuk had closed the door and Seonghwa was too weak to reach the knob. 

The tears that had been welling up for weeks, that had been leading him to this moment, threatened to spill out, percolating gradually as he accepted his death.

When Yeosang fell to his knees, it was as if death was asking him to kneel before it.

The images of Hwanwoong’s listless body in that building, and Mingi’s body on the wet concrete tore themselves into his mind. Acid raised from his stomach, burning his throat. His heart was a painful drum in his chest. He felt that familiar crushing sensation in his chest, the scarcity of air in his lungs, and the pounding above his eyes. Not long now and he’d start crying, he’d break down.

Yeosang couldn’t lose another person.

Yeosang couldn’t lose Seonghwa. Not now that they had become friends, or even more than that, when he could still feel the phantom of their kiss days ago.

Seonghwa was lying in a pool of blood and ink, his breaths short and abrupt and painful. 

Yeosang acted quickly, drawing a Healing rune on Seonghwa’s back, hoping he had come in time. He yelled to get Mina and Jinsoul’s attention, they were in the corridor, not that far.

After Seonghwa had stormed away they had been surprised, letting him march off to deal with his anger. They had pondered about who could have killed Wallace Grant, and when the answer finally flickered in their minds, Yeosang had run.

They had tried to steer away from the possibility, but Seonghwa had suspected his own father, Irene had suspected Jinhyuk too. They all had. They all had seen that monster hiding underneath a strict father figure.

It had been a surprise to find Seonghwa injured though, Yeosang hadn’t dreamed Jinhyuk to harm his own son, but he had.

“What happened?!” Jinsoul shrieked, falling to her knees next to Yeosang.

“Jinhyuk,” he replied.

“We have to get him to the Infirmary. He needs urgent medical help,” Mina said, keeping a cool head.

They divided Seonghwa’s weight on their shoulders and carried him out. Yunho stood in the distance, face like the ashes that had fallen from the sky during Hwanwoong and Mingi’s Rite of Mourning.

“Get Hongjoong,” Yeosang urged him. “Send him a fire message. And get Irene.”

When they managed to lay his body atop an infirmary bed, clean and white, Yeosang got the nearest chair and sank into it. He drew another Healing rune. He took Seonghwa’s warm hand into his, clinging onto it like a lifeline.

He didn’t care that his friends could see his desperation. It didn’t matter anymore, he didn’t possess the energy anymore to hide his feelings and adoration for Seonghwa.

“I apologize,” Seonghwa whispered past pale lips, his eyes opened in a squint.

“Save your energies,” Yeosang whispered back. “You will live,” he promised him. “You will live,” he repeated then, more for himself.

Seonghwa’s eyes fell shut once again, a painful groan escaping his lips that could have been Yeosang’s name. Weakly, he squeezed Yeosang’s hand.

Hongjoong arrived minutes later, whirling inside with a concerned expression on his face. He was followed by Irene and Yunho. He dropped his satchel so he could perform a healing spell.

Silence spread over the Infirmary as they all watched the warlock work. Irene was hugging herself, Mina and Jinsoul hugging one another. Yeosang bit his lips, his fists clenched as he held his own hands.

“He will not die,” Hongjoong announced. “But he will be weak for some days.” He turned to look at Yeosang peculiarly. “You were in time to save him, otherwise he would have lost too much blood.”

The sigh of relief that wanted to escape, got stuck in Yeosang’s throat. There was no reason for relief yet, Jinhyuk roamed New York freely.

“I will make sure he is found,” Irene said as if she could read Yeosang’s mind. “I will inform all Shadowhunters in the Institute of this. He will not walk away from this.”

“I shall talk to Seoho and Keonhee, they can help tracking him down,” Hongjoong said. “I will need something of Jinhyuk’s.”

“That should not be difficult, he left his room untouched,” Mina said. She gestured at the warlock to follow her. Jinsoul came with.

Irene left as well.

It was just Yeosang, Yunho, and Seonghwa now.

“We will find him,” Yeosang promised Seonghwa’s still body—still but breathing and alive. “We will find him and he will pay for this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand we broke the 100k words mark phew
> 
> -jack💛


	15. The Last Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gorgeous as love was, they let the night take them until they were whispers and exhales over skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alrighty the time has come......
> 
> for those who might feel uncomfortable with smut, it starts at [Although they were only kissing...] and finishes at [Gorgeous as love was...]!! It's not very explicit, but in case you want to skip it!!

**New York, November 21st 1899**

In the darkness of his chamber, the realities of the past two weeks weighed immensely on Yeosang’s shoulders, as all suffering in his life did. Darkness let them grow.

In his hands he held a potion Hongjoong had handed him earlier.

He had squeezed Yeosang’s shoulder before hugging him tightly. “You need to rest,” the warlock had whispered. “I know it is not easy. I can _see_ it has been hard.” He had moved away, gently putting a flask into Yeosang’s hands. “This is a potion that will give you a dreamless sleep. Do not hesitate to use it. You need to be well rested if you want to chase down Mr Park once Seonghwa has recovered.”

Thoughts were roaming through Yeosang’s mind, too many to truly grasp them and inspect them. It wasn’t an unusual experience to him—to have a loud mind—but this time there were new thoughts that plagued him, uncharted territory. There was that frightening fear of losing Seonghwa, who he had unexpectedly fallen in love with over the past month. It had taken him by surprise, not just that it was Seonghwa, but that he could feel so strongly about someone.

(Someone that he used to hate.)

But Yeosang had learned that there were moments in which reason was not important. He’d always believed that love could only come after a long time of mutual trust and respect, he’d always thought if he were to fall in love with someone it’d be Mingi or Hwanwoong, not Seonghwa.

There was only warmth in his heart when he thought of Seonghwa now; Seonghwa helping him the night Hwanwoong had died; Seonghwa’s words the night Yeosang had to decide Mingi’s fate; Seonghwa by his side when the pyre had taken Hwanwoong’s body and turned it into ashes; Seonghwa helping him that night during the Downworlders’s Ball, when they had still passionately hated one another…

Yeosang realized that just as easy as it always had been for him to hate Seonghwa, loving him came just as easy. He wondered if he truly had hated Seonghwa or if he had just searched for a place, a person, a thing to let his worst self reside in. An excuse to let his resentment and pain flourish.

He knew now how terrible that had been of him; he wondered what Seonghwa’s reasons had been. Seonghwa who had suffered for years in his father’s shadows.

Possibly, they were more alike than they had first thought.

It was late already, the night slowly bleeding into dawn, and Yeosang hadn’t moved at all. He had kept himself from going to the Infirmary and sit by Seonghwa’s side. He didn’t want to disturb the older’s rest.

When the first birds chirped, Yeosang clutched Hongjoong’s potion, unscrewed it, and downed it in one go. He let himself fall against his soft bed, closing his eyes as he waited for his unconsciousness to take over. He really hoped he’d have a dreamless sleep.

When he opened his eyes it was to bright sunlight hitting his face, disturbing his long needed rest. He lay in his bed for a few minutes, breathing in and out evenly, imagining he was someone else, somewhere else. _How easy it’d be to be a mundane_ , he thought. But the realities of his life were quick to catch up on him and soon he pushed himself off his comfortable bed, still dressed in the previous night’s clothes, covered in sweat and ink and Seonghwa’s blood.

Even if his body ached and his soul burned, he managed to clean himself and get dressed in something fresh. He skipped breakfast—he could always sneak into the kitchen later, knowing Miss López would’ve saved him some leftovers—and went directly to the Infirmary to check up on Seonghwa.

The older Shadowhunter looked considerably better than he had the night before, he wasn’t as pale, and someone had helped him change into new clothes. A tray with a half eaten soup and an empty carafe of water stood on the table next to the bed. 

Quietly, he sat on the chair by Seonghwa’s side and stared at his sleeping body. Yeosang felt calmer than the night before, Hongjoong’s reassurance that Seonghwa would live had lifted a huge weight off his shoulders, but in the back of Yeosang’s mind there was a storm.

Even if they’d survive until the end, even if they managed to find Jinhyuk and have him imprisoned, the damages of the past month were colossal. Yeosang couldn’t imagine how Seonghwa would feel once he woke up fully, once he returned to Idris with his father’s sins unshakeable and permanently in his heart, once he faced his mother… 

Even if they’d make it out alive, there was a lot of pain that had followed that they had to live through first. Yeosang wasn’t sure he’d see Seonghwa again, and if he did it wouldn’t be for a long time, he believed.

“If you think so much, it will leave permanent creases on your forehead,” Seonghwa whispered hoarsely. Yeosang looked at him, startled. Seonghwa’s eyes were squinted open, his pale and chapped lips pulled into a small smile.

“There is a lot to think about,” Yeosang only said. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” Seonghwa replied. He blinked a few times, trying to move. He groaned.

Yeosang placed a hand on Seonghwa’s shoulder. “Do not move. You are still healing.”

Seonghwa sighed, lying down on the pillows. He stared up at the ceiling. For a moment they were quiet.

“Have you found him?”

“No,” Yeosang answered. “We have not heard anything from Hongjoong or Seoho, but they are searching. We _will_ find him.”

“What if we do not? What if this is not over? What if it is just beginning, like Mr Grant said?”

Yeosang shook his head, clenching his hands. “No.”

Seonghwa turned to look at him. “How can you be so sure?”

“I am not, but I refuse to imagine—To take that possibility into consideration.”

Seonghwa laughed dryly, then groaned in pain. “You cannot just refuse things because you do not like them.”

“Oh, you are underestimating the power of ignorance,” he said jokingly. Quieter, he added, “But I really think with Mr Grant and his minions away from the picture, this is coming to a closure. At least for now. If not, something surely would have happened already.”

“At least for now,” Seonghwa repeated thoughtfully. “My father said something about Mr Grant’s visions being those of an immortal one. And Mr Grant did say it would come back to haunt us.” He looked at Yeosang, eyes full of concern and fear, and tired—so, so tired. “What if we can never rest for a single moment in our lives, always worried it will come back any moment?”

“Is that not just life in itself? Constantly worried about unpredictable and horrible events?” Yeosang countered, but he too worried he wouldn’t catch sleep for the rest of his life. He already had troubles now after all that had happened, he’d had troubles before due to his difficult childhood; this would be just another nightmare and worry.

“I suppose all we can do _is_ live,” Seonghwa said quietly. “At least now we have each other.” It almost sounded like a question, hesitance in his tone even if his eyes were steadily meeting Yeosang’s.

“We do have each other,” Yeosang agreed.

They were interrupted by Yunho, Mina, and Jinsoul entering the Infirmary, they were carrying a tray with bread and slices of cheese and ham, and a pot that smelled strongly of coffee.

“I knew we would find you here,” Yunho said, addressing Yeosang. He put the tray on Yeosang’s lap. 

“Thank you.” 

It was a small and simple gesture, but after his conversation with Seonghwa, and everything he had experienced ever since the Shadowhunters had arrived at the International Institute, he could _feel_ the sentiment of ‘having each other’ beneath his skin—some place his skin and bones ended and his soul began. 

Hongjoong had promised him he’d find a family, and he had. He truly had.

**~*~**

**New York, November 23rd 1899**

Restlessly, they had waited for Seonghwa to recover, who blamed himself for having been attacked by his father, for having had a slither of trust (hope) until the very end.

“It is not your fault,” Jinsoul reassured him for the up-tenth time, squeezing his shoulder. “Besides, we have not found him. It is as though he has disappeared, turning into smoke, like Mr Grant did.”

“They probably had Mr Keaton make them some kind of potion so they are un-trackable,” Yeosang said, his arms crossed.

They found themselves in the training room—the five of them—as Seonghwa had insisted he needed training after being indisposed for a few days. Yunho had tried to talk some sense into him, that he shouldn’t over exercise himself, but Seonghwa hadn’t liked to hear that.

“We need to act, now!” he had insisted while putting on his fighting gear. “We have lost valuable time!”

They had kept their eyes on him, looking for any sign that he might be pushing himself too much, but if there had been any, he had hid them well as he had fought effortlessly.

“Irene said there have been more and more attacks of those abominations, but they are easy to deal with,” Yunho brought up. “She said it was as though they were roaming purposeless through the city, without a leader to guide them.”

“Do you believe that with Mr Grant dead this is really over?” Mina asked no one in particular. They all had been thinking it.

“Perhaps for now,” Yeosang said. “But he warned us that it would come back to haunt us. I doubt it is over, but I believe that his death might have been for the best.”

“I cannot help but think that even though we clearly stopped _something_ , they always had a back up plan,” Seonghwa said, frowning. “I have been thinking of Mr Grant’s words, and my father’s… There is a bigger purpose to everything they have done.”

“What do you mean?” Jinsoul asked him.

“When I read through your files,” he continued, his seraph blade hanging by his side, sweat dripping down his face, “I stumbled upon that very first lead you had on Mr Grant: his office in Sunset Park. You said it all looked fake, as though he had been putting up a play. But what if they really summoned a demon? What if that pretend scene was telling a true story?”

His words hung in the thick air of the training room, uncomfortable and terrible. Yeosang thought back to that night he had inspected the office by Sunset Park with Mingi and Hwanwoong, he almost had forgotten that night as it had been the beginning and, what he had believed to be, a set up; not to mention the fact that the office had been destroyed the second time they had gone there.

“Do you recall that odd, eerie emptiness of the streets when we found Mr Grant? As though someone— _something bigger_ —was guarding the scene?” Seonghwa carried on. “Why would he be alone? Waiting for us?”

Jinsoul gasped silently.

“He _let_ himself be arrested. Even if something _was_ there, it hardly made a difference to him, now did it?” Yunho countered, shaking his head, but he too was hanging off Seonghwa’s lips as he voiced his theories. 

“Perhaps that was a trap too,” Seonghwa tried, shrugging. 

“Let us not completely lose track,” Mina said, rubbing her temples. 

They had long given up training, sitting now in a circle on the floor. Weak sunlight filtered through the window, Yeosang yearned to be outside and breathe in the air, perhaps go for a walk through New York. It had snowed the night before, a thin layer of it still remained on the pavement. It would be a breathless sight now, with the sun shining from the sky, softly turning snow into a treasure chest of sparkling curiosities.

Seonghwa’s skin looked a little like a treasure chest too, the sun only reached half of his face and part of his partly exposed chest, his tan skin glistening. 

Yeosang yearned for him too. To reach out his hand and feel Seonghwa’s heartbeat underneath his warm skin. To feel the pull and tension of his muscles when he moved his arms in battle, or twisted his torso to dodge an attack. 

Yeosang was quick to look away. Even if most suspected there was something between them, they hadn’t named it yet. They weren’t sure themselves what it was, _if_ it was. And Yeosang knew Seonghwa would leave (with Yunho, Jinsoul, and Mina) soon.

Seonghwa, unaware of Yeosang’s eyes on him, said, “I am sure he summoned something!”

“You think he could have summoned a Greater Demon to aid him?” Jinsoul asked, eyes wide.

Seonghwa nodded his head.

“I doubt his office was destroyed, I think it was an illusion, and I believe my father could be hiding there,” Seonghwa continued. “Perhaps it was always meant to be Sunset Park, the beginning and the end for their terrible affairs.”

Yeosang recalled a different night, when he had been out with Mingi, near Sunset Park, where they had encountered that warlock who had been killing mundanes. 

The beginning.

_Malum erit vobis._

He shuddered. 

“We shall go back there,” Yeosang said decidedly. “I do think Seonghwa might be right…”

“We should not go alone,” Yunho said. “I shall inform Hongjoong and Mingi. If there is a Greater Demon, who placed an illusion on Mr Grant’s office at Sunset Park, we need all the help we can get.”

They were back where it had all started: Sunset Park, Brooklyn. 

It was strange to walk down the familiar area: the ships in the distance danced on the waters of the bay. A month ago they hadn’t known what they were up against, they hadn’t known the losses and choices they were about to confront; Yeosang hadn’t known what falling in love would be like. 

In such a short time, everything had changed and yet Sunset Park looked exactly the same. It was staggering.

They walked to Wallace Grant’s office, the outline of the building was still in the same place. It didn’t look as though anything was there, but they all trusted Seonghwa’s instinct; after all, they too had felt that presence lingering near Mr Grant’s mansion. It wouldn’t be surprising if the mundane had gotten in contact with a Greater Demon to manage his dark affairs.

The High Warlock of Queens scanned the area, moving his hands as sparks appeared from his fingertips.

“Move back,” he ordered. Then he began reciting a spell, waving his hands in a precise movement. Slowly, out of thin air, walls, a door, a roof materialized and within seconds the old office stood in front of them. As though Hongjoong had portaled it out from a different dimension.

Yeosang shivered. It could be possible that Mr Grant had hidden it in a different dimension, one plagued with demons. There was much they hadn’t considered when it came to him, it was unusual for a mundane to know so much of the Shadow World.

“That absolute—” Mina started swearing. “ _Harahel_ ,” she whispered as she drew out her seraph sword. Jinsoul followed suit, unlatching her whip, her seraph blade in her other hand. They looked fierce and terrifying and beautiful.

Yeosang got his bow, tensing it with an arrow that pointed at the door.

Seonghwa and Yunho walked to the door, the latter drawing the Unlocking rune on it. He pushed it open and held up his witchlight. 

For the briefest of moments, nothing happened, then something jumped at him from inside. Yunho was quick to react, pushing his seraph blade into whatever creature had attacked him. It was one of the abominations.

After that, havoc unfolded at Sunset Park. Monsters upon monsters stormed from inside the office; there had to be a portal inside, Yeosang thought, they couldn’t have fitted in the office.

Seonghwa pushed past the hordes of abomination into the office.

“ _Father_!” Yeosang heard him call out, his voice distorted due to all the wailing and growling of the creatures.

Yeosang tried to follow him, but it was impossible, there were too many monsters blocking his way. 

“Hongjoong,” he said. “Do something!”

The warlock had the grace to roll his eyes. “What do you think I am doing?!”

But Hongjoong produced flames from his fingertips, burning a large group of the abominations that were blocking the entrance to the office. It was a good enough window for Yeosang to sprint inside.

Seonghwa stood facing Jinhyuk. His face terrible.

The office looked worse than the first time Yeosang had been inside. There seemed to be real blood covering the floor, where once the demon summoning had been drawn with paint. He realized with shock that it most likely had been an instruction.

Jinhyuk’s eyes flitted to Yeosang, spiteful. He smiled wickedly before commanding something to attack them, it was a Shax demon jumping from the shadows.

It landed on Yeosang, who struggled beneath its weight. He heard footsteps and swearing.

“Go after him!” Yeosang told Seonghwa. “I got this!”

Seonghwa swore again before he left the office, chasing after his father. 

Yeosang managed to draw out his seraph blade, but not before the demon clawed at him and knocked his face into the dirty floor. He groaned, tasting blood. 

“You hideous, little—” he grumbled, managing to unlatch a knife which he pushed into the demon’s face. 

The Shax demon jumped off him, flailing and growling. Yeosang quickly got his seraph blade and sent the demon back into its dimension. He spit out blood, his bottom lip stinging when he passed the back of his hand over it. 

He looked around the office, but it was deadly silent. Whatever Jinhyuk had done, he had long finished and they had only found the remnants of his terrible deeds. Yeosang’s eyes lingered on the drawing on the floor, his blood turning cold.

_What have you done, Jinhyuk?_

Jinhyuk should know how detrimental it was to summon a Greater Demon, that they were tricky and not to be trusted. If Jinhyuk really had summoned a Greater Demon, they were doomed. _It will come back to haunt you_ , Wallace Grant had said. Yeosang was starting to believe it more and more.

Without wasting any more time, he ran out of the office, scanning the area: Yunho and Mina were engaged with taking out the horde of demons that had come from inside the office while Jinsoul was helping Mingi and Seoho.

“Where are they?” Hongjoong asked, stopping a vampire mid air as he jogged over toward Yeosang. “Seonghwa and Mr Park are gone.”

Yeosang froze.

Seonghwa was indeed gone as was Jinhyuk. Fear crawled into his body, the image of blood and ink appeared in his mind.

He saw a flicker of a seraph blade in the distance, toward the bay area where the boats groaned and creaked. Quickly, Yeosang adjusted his bow over his torso and sprinted toward the light.

 _Please be alright,_ he begged. _By the Angel, I cannot lose you too._

Hongjoong was right behind him, using a spell to light up the night around them. When they approached the figure holding the seraph blade, Yeosang’s heart let out a beat of relief as he recognized the wild raven hair and the slope of Seonghwa’s nose, but then he noticed his stiff posture and the listless body on the ground in front of him.

“Seonghwa,” he started, his words dying out soon after. “Is he…?”

Hongjoong stared at Jinhyuk’s body too, his eyebrows pulled into a deep frown.

Seonghwa stood pale, not answering at first, then he turned around. His face was unreadable.

“He is alive. I knocked him out,” he replied emptily.

Yeosang exhaled. He approached Seonghwa, placing his hand on Seonghwa’s shoulder, squeezing it.

“It is over,” he said, but Seonghwa shook his head.

“ _Malum erit vobis_ ,” he repeated those damned words. “He said, as Mr Grant did, that evil will be set free. He said it cannot be stopped.” He turned his face toward Yeosang. “I think, with evil, they meant a Greater Demon. Maluminse.”

“Maluminse…” Yeosang echoed and shivered. “The Greater Demon for evil. The _source_ of evil.”

Seonghwa nodded.

“Did he say anything else about it?”

“No, but when he faces his trial he will _have_ to reveal the truth. He cannot lie under the Mortal Sword.” Seonghwa turned to look at his father, resentment and hatred clear in his eyes, but above all there was pain. He shook his head. “We should go back and help the others. Hongjoong, teleport him to the Institute.”

The High Warlock of Queens nodded, already casting a spell to make handcuffs appear around Jinhyuk’s wrists, then he opened a portal, taking the unconscious body with him before he vanished.

“Did he say anything else?” Yeosang inquired before they headed back to the office.

Seonghwa shook his head, but Yeosang could see it was a lie.

“Seonghwa…” he tried.

“It was not anything of importance,” Seonghwa hissed, clearly bothered and shaken. “Just the usual, how I betrayed him and disobeyed him and am not a worthy son.” He shrugged harshly as though it would get rid of those words.

“You know that is not true. You have to know that.”

Seonghwa glanced at him, a peculiar look in his eyes.

“You are admirable and brave, Seonghwa. Anything your father has said about you is not true. He does not know you,” Yeosang insisted, resisting the urge to step forward and take Seonghwa’s face in his hands and kiss him.

Seonghwa smiled, it was small and incredibly tired, but it was there.

“Come on, our friends need us,” he only said, but he squeezed Yeosang’s forearm in gratefulness.

After receiving Irene’s word that Jinhyuk had been sent to the Silent City, where a prison cell awaited him—Brother Akoni having personally dealt with his younger brother—they scattered each to their own chambers.

“I wrote the Council and Inquisitor. Brother Akoni said Mr Park shall be judged by the Mortal Sword,” she had told them tiredly. All of them were tired, desiring nothing more than to lie down and sleep until their pain was gone. “I cannot thank you enough for everything you have done,” she had said, addressing Hongjoong, Seoho, and Mingi. She had hugged each of them individually. “If you ever need anything, I will always be ready to help you.”

“The same goes for you,” Seoho had said.

“You are always welcome in my home,” Hongjoong had told her, then turning to the young Shadowhunters. “The same goes for you. I have never taken a liking to Nephilim, but I suppose there is a first for everything.” He had smiled genuinely.

After the Downworlders had left the Institute, Irene had been quick to dismiss the young Shadowhunters. She had insisted they all needed to rest as it was well past midnight. But Yeosang couldn’t find sleep. He kept twisting and turning in his bed’s sheets. He couldn’t stop picturing Seonghwa’s broken and yet utterly composed face confronted with his terrible father. He recalled the times he had seen Seonghwa like that, and he decided he couldn’t leave him alone with those thoughts and that burden during the night.

Visited by the similarity of the situation, Yeosang hesitated before he knocked on Seonghwa’s door. He waited only for a few beats of his heart before the older Shadowhunter opened. Seonghwa’s hair looked darker as it wetly clung to his forehead, droplets of water sliding down the sides of his face. He wore a simple green linen shirt, half buttoned, and beige linen pants. Runes peeked out from every inch of skin he was showing, tempting and beautiful. 

He didn’t seem surprised to see Yeosang standing there.

“Come in,” he said raspy. 

Steam hung in the air, thickly and hotly, as well as the pleasant scent of soap. 

_Are you alright?_ Yeosang wanted to ask but the question died on his tongue; it was a useless one. Of course Seonghwa wouldn’t be alright, not after everything that had happened.

“Will you be alright?” he asked instead. 

Yeosang leaned against the bedpost as the chairs were occupied with dirty clothes and books. He noticed Seonghwa hadn’t packed yet and he would leave the following night.

Seonghwa approached him, standing at a short distance, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

He considered Yeosang’s question for a moment, then replied with, “I cannot answer that. I can only hope that I will be alright one day.” He considered something, then added with a quiet voice, “For now, I am just relieved. I am so relieved this is over, and that I can heal from his injuries.”

“I am sorry.”

Seonghwa shook his head. “No, do not apologize. You… You helped me realize what a monster he is, you helped me find my courage.”

Yeosang swallowed, his heart doing a complicated stutter. “I am not sure what to say. I believe you have always been courageous, Seonghwa. Many of the words I said to you, were said out of spite, due to our rivalry…”

Seonghwa laughed, it was short but boisterous. “Oh, I am aware,” he said. “I mean it, though, you helped me confront my father. You may not realize it, but you have a way of moving people, Yeosang. I cannot put it into words…” He hesitated. “I am forever grateful to you.”

“I—” He tried, but his throat closed, his words getting stuck. There was too much he wanted to say. _You made me hate myself less_ , for instance. “I shall forever be thankful to you too,” he chose. “You were there when I lost…” He trailed off, shrugging uncomfortably.

Seonghwa nodded, his lips parted as if he wanted to say more, but he refrained.

Before the silence could become too awkward, Yeosang said, “You are leaving tomorrow.” He tried to sound casual. He failed. His voice was too charged with sadness and hesitation.

“I am,” Seonghwa said. His eyes were traveling around Yeosang’s face, more often than not halting on Yeosang’s lips. It was thrilling.

Yeosang let his eyes drop down to Seonghwa’s lips too, wetting his own.

But the question, the demand, would not move past his tongue. Why was it so difficult to ask Seonghwa to kiss him again?

“Will you miss New York?” he asked instead.

Seonghwa tilted his head, his eyes snapping up to meet Yeosang’s. Unreadable and darker than before, in them Yeosang could see the reflection of a candle behind him flicker.

“You have no idea,” he answered, something hiding beneath his words.

Yeosang swallowed, and clenched his hands by his side. 

He wanted to reach forward and let their lips meet, this time without salty tears in the way. He wanted to take him into his arms, whisper his name until it was all he knew, and profess his affections into Seonghwa’s skin, where they’d reside eternally. He wanted to hear Seonghwa’s voice whisper Yeosang’s name with the same intent and adoration.

He was shaking with a kind of anticipation he’d never felt in this intensity. He wasn’t a stranger to casual relationships, but he hadn’t kissed as many people as might have been assumed, and certainly never in a situation like this one. His heart had never been this loud, so full of desire. It never had been someone he had known, someone he’d had a complicated relationship with. Never someone quite like Seonghwa: with his unparalleled beauty, the crinkles by his eyes when he laughed, his fingers that caused a trail of fire and ice on Yeosang’s skin at the same time…

It was an irrefutable fact that if he was kissed now, in this dense atmosphere in the dead of the night, locked away from the rest of the world, quiet and safe, there would never be a way back. 

Yeosang was well aware of the fact he was in love, and there was only space for him to fall deeper and deeper. 

He was still a stranger to Seonghwa’s hands on him, and he yet had to know how Seonghwa’s skin would feel under his fingers; he was certain that would be the moment he’d completely surrender to love.

Unmistakably, Seonghwa was thinking the same as him. His eyes were darker than usual, not ashamed to hide his desire. All it took was a hand, half raised in the air, tentative and trembling, that Seonghwa moved to the side of Yeosang’s face, cupping it, moving it to the side.

“I have wanted to kiss you again, it has been so difficult not to,” Seonghwa whispered, amazed.

“Then kiss me,” Yeosang told him.

And Seonghwa did.

The press of his lips was so full of need, they were hot and wet, tasting slightly of the soap he had used during his bath. Yeosang let out a soft exhale of relief, as though he had spent the day in the freezing cold and he finally had gotten back to the Institute, immediately warming his hands over the fireplace, the stark contrast of the freezing cold to the heating flames numbing his fingers.

He couldn’t move for the briefest flutter of his heart, numb and on edge. His body tensed, and then he finally let go, all the nerves in his body concentrating where Seonghwa’s lips were on his. He didn’t waste any more time and kissed him back fervently. 

His skin was slowly growing hot and sensitive, his own loose clothes felt as though they weighed a ton, he could feel them every time he shifted a little—when he moved his arms to hold Seonghwa’s waist, when he surged forward to kiss Seonghwa harder, when his knees nearly gave way and he had to remind himself he had a body and wasn’t just a bundle of nerves exploding, wasn’t just a discharge of sensations and bright, white light—and with a breathless exhale he thought how wonderful it’d be if Seonghwa would rid him of his shirt.

Even if Yeosang wasn’t a stranger to kissing and having someone else’s hands on him, it never had been with another man, less with a person he loved; everything felt a thousand times more intense.

He was losing his mind, rendering himself completely to Seonghwa and his lips and hands on him, he didn’t realize the quiet moan that escaped his mouth. He wasn’t sure if it was a word, a complaint, a beg… 

Seonghwa stopped kissing him, leaning back to gaze at him through squinted eyes.

“By the Angel,” he whispered, his voice rough. “You are gorgeous.”

Gently, Seonghwa pushed Yeosang’s chest, making him fall onto the bed. With a pounding heart and burning skin, Yeosang leaned back, propped up on his elbows.

Where his shirt had ridden up, he could feel the cold sheets of Seonghwa’s bed against his bare skin, a little stingy where his most recent _Iratze_ rune was still healing. 

He hissed quietly, the pain vanishing as soon as his mind was distracted once again with Seonghwa, who was now hovering above him. Yeosang fisted the sheets, blinking rapidly as his mind was spinning. He focused on Seonghwa, who was only centimeters from him, bending down so their chests were almost touching. Yeosang could feel the heat radiating off of Seonghwa, he could feel the hard beat of Seonghwa’s heart next to his own crazy heartbeat. 

Seonghwa placed one hand next to Yeosang’s head, to hold himself up, while the other sneaked toward Yeosang’s hair, undoing the bun he wore and tangling his fingers through his locks.

Desperate to feel Seonghwa’s lips on his again, he leaned up, but Seonghwa held onto his hair and softly tugged his head back down onto the sheets.

He tried not to make a sound—it was late already—but he failed to contain the breathless gasp that escaped him, or the shiver that ran up his body.

Before he could even voice his complaint, Seonghwa’s lips were back on his. Automatically, Yeosang leaned into the kiss, his chest rising and his body trembling. He moved his own hand to entangle it in Seonghwa’s hair, it was soft and still moist from his bath, like warm raindrops pouring between his fingers.

Although they were only kissing, now that their bodies were so close, Yeosang felt sparks run up and down his legs, a deep tug in his abdomen that made him gasp breathlessly into Seonghwa’s mouth as his hips searched for an answer. 

“ _Yeosang_ ,” Seonghwa muttered. He angled his face so he could peer down at him, his pupils blown wide, his lips red and swollen and irresistible. 

Yeosang wanted to speak, to voice his desires out-loud, but he failed in doing so. This was new to him, and he felt a little shy—no, rather than shy, he was nervous. The kind of excited-nervousness upon the uncharted territory of being intimate with another man, of being intimate with _Seonghwa_. He didn’t even know himself what exactly he was so desperately yearning for.

Even without words, Seonghwa appeared to understand him just fine. He answered Yeosang’s plea by pushing down his own hips. Instead of kissing him again, Seonghwa’s lips ended up in a place between Yeosang’s neck and his collarbones, where no one had ever kissed him before. Shivers travelled up and down his spine and his arms until they reached his mouth in the form of a sharp intake of breath.

He was sure he said something: Seonghwa’s name, a word to express his pleasure, a swear word… He couldn’t tell which one it had been, perhaps they were all the same.

With a flutter, his eyelashes fell shut. Darkness and colors swirled in front of his unseeing eyes, making the sensation of Seonghwa’s lips on his skin a tenfold stronger, and the friction between their thin linen trousers caused whiteness to explode behind Yeosang’s eyelids, tears prickling in the corners of his eyes.

He shivered, choking on Seonghwa’s name as he had never felt another person’s dick pressing against his own.

Curiosity had often made Yeosang think of just this, but he had always left it as a fantasy residing in the back of his mind. Now that he was experiencing it, he couldn’t stop wondering what a little more would feel like. 

Seonghwa leaned back, fully straddling Yeosang, who let both his hands rest over Seonghwa’s waist. One of Seonghwa’s hands found Yeosang’s chest, catching each of his erratic heartbeats, the other was cupping his face, his thumb delicately tracing his mouth, catching each of his exhales. 

Warmly, Seonghwa smiled at him. It was small, barely a tug of his lips, but it was there. Yeosang tried to smile back in all his want and desire. It was so unexpected, that tender and lovely gesture, but it made his heart grow and his skin tingle.

With experienced hands, Seonghwa unbuttoned his shirt, his fingers gracing over Yeosang’s chest. As though they possessed a magnetic pull on his lungs, his ribcage, his heart Yeosang leaned into the touch sporadically. 

Still shivering and breathless, he found Seonghwa’s hair again and pulled him down for another kiss. His other hand imitated Seonghwa, unbuttoning the other’s shirt so he could rest his hand over Seonghwa’s heart too. Out of rhythm their hearts called for one another.

Gorgeous as love was, they let the night take them until they were whispers and exhales over skin.

**~*~**

**New York, November 25th 1899**

It was the last morning in New York, the International Institute was considerably emptier than it had been the past month as many Shadowhunters had already left the night before or early that morning, before breakfast. Many had been eager to return to their usual lives, to see their loved ones in Idris.

Seonghwa lingered, dragging out the inevitable until the very last moment. Yunho was hesitant about leaving as well, just like Seonghwa he had grown attached to New York. Both of them having not just fallen in love with the city but with _someone_.

When he first had come there, Seonghwa had believed it would be an easy mission like any other he had faced in his life, but it had brought so many unexpected turns in his life. Not just his father’s betrayal or the fact that Wallace Grant’s horrors lingered in the shadows, he had fallen in love for the first time in his life. Fallen hard and irrevocably, he knew he wouldn’t forget Yeosang any time soon—didn’t _want_ to forget him.

Although it looked grim and hopeless, and Seonghwa felt a strong sense of obligation going back to Idris to clean his family name and to see his mother again, he was determined not to let this go. This quiet flutter in his heart that he had been controlling and putting in a cage out of fear, but he knew was so much stronger than he was letting it. Last night had been unlike anything Seonghwa had ever experienced, his heart surging with love for Yeosang.

With so many Shadowhunters gone, and the inevitability of it being the last day in New York, there was a different atmosphere in the Institute: it was quiet, tranquil. Almost a reflection, Seonghwa supposed, of what it usually was like.

His heart hurt a little at the thought of Irene and Yeosang sitting silently in the dinner hall once they were all gone, the weight of their losses strong and inescapable then. 

He shuddered, his soul crying in empathy.

He imagined his mother and himself sitting in their house in Idris with that loud and pregnant silence, where the pain and all the unspoken words resided.

He thought of his friends: Yunho, Jinsoul, Mina… All awaiting that same uncomfortable and loud silence. 

Compared to the many tables that had been occupied for the past month, this time there was only one table in the dinner hall, all Shadowhunters squeezed around it. Many had already eaten their breakfast and were packing to take the portal midday. Irene was at the head of the table, talking to several Shadowhunters that had been on her side from the beginning. 

She spotted Seonghwa and smiled kindly at him, he returned the smile before heading to the other end of the table, where the younger Shadowhunters were seated.

“Good morning,” Jinsoul greeted, having noticed him first. “You look well rested.”

“Hongjoong’s potion works wonders,” he said, sitting by Yeosang’s side. Their knees bumped together, both flinching imperceptibly, then letting their knees touch again. Heat rose up from the touch, Seonghwa’s heart jumped, his skin prickling with the memory of last night.

Yeosang shot him a small smile, it was a little sad around the edges. Oh, how Seonghwa wished he could lean forward and kiss him, but there were many strangers around them.

“All packed up?” Yeosang asked.

“Yes.”

“I will miss you,” Yeosang admitted. He laughed. “Ah, what madness. If someone would have told me a month ago I would say those words, I would have called them crazy.” 

Seonghwa could see he was trying hard to make everything seem normal, to lessen the weight of the approaching farewell.

“I am glad your whole rivalry is over,” Mina muttered. “It was vexing.”

“I am glad too. This is much more pleasant,” Seonghwa admitted.

Yunho choked on his tea. “Oh, gross! Spare me the details.”

Seonghwa could feel his face heat up instantly. He sputtered, shyly glancing at Yeosang. 

“Oh, shut it,” Yeosang hissed, glaring at Yunho. “I do not want to know what you and Mingi get up to.”

“ _Nothing_!” Yunho insisted. “You can ask Hongjoong. We have very pleasant conversations, the _three_ of us.” He glared at Yeosang, then at Mina and Jinsoul, who were hiding snorts behind their hands. “Mingi and I have decided to take it slow, especially since I will be going back to Idris for a while. There is a strange atmosphere reigning. My father most likely will have to resign as Consul.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Yeosang said, frowning.

Yunho shrugged. He never had cared much about it.

“So, you will come back to New York eventually?” Seonghwa asked, addressing Yunho, his hands were shaking a little. 

If Yunho was going back, Seonghwa would surely follow him.

“Yes. Next year. In the meantime, I will visit my mother and uncle in Seoul.”

“Mina and I will head to Seoul too,” Jinsoul said. “We will stay at the Institute there. Although, I will miss New York and its lovely people.” She smiled kindly at Yeosang.

“I am sure Irene will always have rooms available for you all,” Yeosang assured her, turning his gaze on Seonghwa meaningfully.

 _He wants me to come back,_ Seonghwa thought ecstatic. 

“We should do something fun today,” Yunho spoke up. “We hardly had a chance to explore New York, see its beautiful sides.” He faced Yeosang. “You would not mind giving us a little tour?”

Yeosang smiled. “Of course not!”

Just like the wind could turn around the direction of a fire, blasting it brightly to the west, or could change the direction of a ship in the open ocean, Yeosang had changed the direction of Seonghwa’s life.

Despite his momentary choice of returning to Idris and deal with his father’s damages, facing a trial of his own to defend himself and tell his own story and explain his actions of going against his father, he knew with certainty that he couldn’t imagine staying in Idris for too long.

He hadn’t even left New York and his heart was already missing it.

Especially after their relaxed day, exploring the city like tourists, not Shadowhunters on duty, in pursuit of a great evil. It made him realize how badly he wanted something permanent and stable. Of course, being a Shadowhunter always meant duty, but he had imagined and glimpsed a future in which he lived in New York with Yeosang—with Yunho, Jinsoul, and Mina if their hearts were also set on New York—and they resided in the International Institute as they protected the city. They’d visit Hongjoong in his apartment for an afternoon tea, and celebrated in his huge mansion together with other Downworlders and Shadowhunters.

He imagined a future in which these tensions weren’t as bad as they were now, a future in which he wouldn’t have to hide his affections for Yeosang as though they were wrong. He knew well a day would come when they’d be forgotten, only the tales about what they had achieved would be passed on, and his heart was selfish because he desired for the whole world to know. To know they had kissed, they had loved, they had existed… 

When they had visited New York’s landmarks earlier in the day, undetected and invisible to mundane eyes, and Mina and Jinsoul had kissed below the Statue of Liberty, Seonghwa had taken a moment to hold Yeosang’s hand. 

It had felt exhilarating and liberating to hold another man’s hand so freely, in the middle of the day. Their friends hadn’t seen them, no one to know and tell about it except for them. It shouldn’t matter that no one knew except for them what they had shared, but Seonghwa despised the idea of how quickly history could be rewritten and morphed. 

Downstairs, in the welcoming hall, a portal awaited him now. It’d take him home, but his heart would stay in this new home he had found in New York and in Yeosang. He was meant to meet Yeosang an hour ago so they could talk, but Yeosang hadn’t showed up. Seonghwa knew if he went downstairs, Yeosang would be there: a fleeting goodbye was all Yeosang was granting him.

It pained him. It confused him. After everything, was this how it would end?

But he couldn’t entirely blame Yeosang because Yeosang was only reminding him of the harsh truth. No matter how much Seonghwa wished he could live love openly, it had to remain a secret for now—no one to know except for them.

As he left his private chamber, he bumped into Miss Anne, who was on her way downstairs to give the last Shadowhunters her farewell.

“Ready to leave, Mr Park?” she asked with a polite smile.

“Ah, not really,” he replied miserably. “New York is a beautiful city.”

She smiled, a little knowingly. Seonghwa wondered if the walls really did have eyes and ears. He shook himself inwardly.

“May I ask you a favor?”

She blinked in surprise. “Of course, Mr Park.”

After recovering from his father’s wounds, Seonghwa had gone back to Jinhyuk’s chambers, in the mess he had found his family ring and rescued it. He had considered throwing it into the bay waters near the Statue of Liberty to let go, but he knew he would have regretted it. The ring did not represent his father, it represented his family. Family, which Seonghwa had learned, did not have to include just his parents and blood relatives, but it could mean something else too.

With expertise he drew a rune over his family crest, erasing it, and instead drew a significant rune over it, his heart beating fast and painfully. Miss Anne watched him with great interest and curiosity.

Once he was done, he lifted the ring so she could take it. Her eyes widened when she saw the rune he had drawn.

“Mr Park, what—?”

“Please give it to Yeosang once I have left,” he pleaded.

Miss Anne sucked in a surprised breath.

“You want me to give this to Mr Kang? Should you not give this to him personally?”

He shook his head. “I do not know what his answer would be. I want to give him time to think about it,” he explained himself hastily.

It felt strange bearing a near stranger his heart, she possessed his truth now.

“I promise Mr Kang will receive the ring,” she said. She opened her mouth as if she wanted to add something, but her words died out when Miss Julianna appeared at the end of the hallway, urging them to come downstairs as the portal to Idris would close shortly.

**~*~**

> _New York_
> 
> _November 28th 1899_
> 
> _Dear Seonghwa,_
> 
> _I am not entirely sure why I sat down to write you this letter, but I am sorry for not coming to your chamber that night so we could talk about us._ _You left and I stayed, and that was always meant to be._
> 
> _I suppose the easiest answer is that I was scared that night._ _I suppose because my words fail me when I speak, and all I would want to tell you would have been lost in the moment, and instead I would have kissed you._ _I suppose what I wanted to say was already told: in our kisses and touches._
> 
> _I can suppose all I want, but I know the importance of words—of not letting things unspoken because that blank weighs._ _I stand on one side of the ocean and you are by the other end, and that distance between us, that I desperately ignored ever since I first realized my adoration for you, has become real and palpable._
> 
> _Yesterday I visited Hongjoong in Queens, and as I left his apartment I found myself walking down to the docks. I watched the Atlantic Ocean, the ripples of the waves as a boat passed by and its horn blasted, piercing through the silent night._ _I am not good with words. Mingi has always been better with them than I have, but for you I will try._ _For you, Seonghwa, there is a lot I would try._ _At the other end of that ocean stand my affections, my love. At the other side of that vast ocean stands you, Seonghwa._
> 
> _When I met you for the first time I was in awe of you. I was young then, but I yearned. It was an unrecognizable flicker deep in my heart, like that shadow we see in the corners of our eyes._ _I thought if I ignored it it would leave me alone, but that shadow stayed. You stayed in the corners of my eyes._ _I admit we did not start off in the best terms, and part of that blame is on me. My actions were childish, then again, I was a child at the time. I apologize for what I did, I truly feel sorry._ _I never admitted to anyone, but I often wondered what would have happened if you had accepted my request to become_ parabatai _. I wondered if we had become friends and hadn’t hated each other, perhaps…_
> 
> _It doesn’t matter, does it?_ _But I believe this outcome might have always been possible at any given time—might have been predestined since the very beginning._
> 
> _I am getting carried away once again because I run of the truth and over-explain myself, or hardly explain myself at all._ _Here is the truth, plain and inexorable: I am in love with you._
> 
> _I do not expect an immediate answer, or a favorable one, or a promise._ _Please, when you have the time, give me an answer, that is all I ask._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Yeosang_

With ink smudged fingers and tear stained cheeks, Yeosang held the folded letter over the candle on his desk. The rune for fire messages on the tip of his tongue, his stele tightly in his free hand, but as the flames consumed his words—his truth, his heart—he couldn’t speak.

The letter to Seonghwa burned brightly in front of him, heat burning his fingers and warming his face. 

His pain was just as bright. 

All that was left within seconds was a pile of ashes scattered over his desk and a broken heart.

**~*~**

**New York, November 30th 1899**

As the High Warlock of Queens made his way from the bar at the corner—he had run out of appetizers, an important item to have as a High Warlock, you could never know when an unexpected visitor would knock at one’s doors, and Hongjoong was moved to prepare drinks—he felt the indistinguishable and unsettling sensation that someone or something was watching him from the shadows.

He halted, fingers already coursing and sparking with magic. He turned his head around and waited, but nothing came to him. He recalled a similar atmosphere not that long ago when they had arrested Wallace Grant, and on other occasions too: something watching them from the shadows—waiting and observing.

It felt more powerful now than before, as if it was now present, among them. As though before it had been watching from a distant place.

Hongjoong shivered as he thought of multiple possibilities: Mr Grant’s last words before they had carried him to the Institute and Mr Grant’s strange autopsy results that Hongjoong and the Silent Brothers had discussed with Irene. They hadn’t shared them with the young Shadowhunter to not scare them, but it seemed they had come to the same conclusions via a different theory. 

_It appears someone took a huge amount of his blood before killing him,_ Brother Akoni had said.

“Could it have been a vampire?” Irene had asked, inspecting Mr Grant’s body closely.

 _No. There are no bite marks, but there is a small puncture wound by his arm._ Brother Akoni had shown them the wound in question. _From a syringe most likely._

“Why would someone take his blood?” Irene had questioned, a frown appearing between her brows. Her lips had been bitten bloody from worry and stress. She had looked at Hongjoong for an explanation, one that wouldn’t lead to the terrifying truth she had already figured out.

“To summon certain Greater Demons blood is needed,” Hongjoong had said, returning her gaze. He couldn’t give her the reassurance she needed. “I cannot help but to assume the worst.”

Irene had sighed, the weight of the world upon her shoulders. She had faced Brother Akoni, her eyes full of fire.

“Your brother did this, and he possibly has summoned a Greater Demon. When it comes down to it, are you ready to give him the trial and punishment he deserves?”

It was never easy to read a Silent Brothers’s expression as they had none, but Hongjoong had thought to see a little offense in Brother Akoni’s face.

_When I joined the Brotherhood I left behind any attachments, that does include my family. If Jinhyuk truly murdered this mundane and summoned a Greater Demon, he will face the consequences. He will be stripped of his runes and be put in a prison cell in the City of Bones._

Irene had nodded, appreciating Brother Akoni’s honesty.

The night was only growing darker and colder, the earlier downfall turning to ice on the concrete. Hurriedly, Hongjoong walked up to his apartment. The sensation that he was being watched wasn’t leaving him alone, a chill running down his back.

He had conversed with Seoho and Keonhee about the possibility of a Greater Demon being set free, but unlike Hongjoong they couldn’t simply tap into the world of demons to get information. It was already a miracle that Children of the Moon and Night Children got along, to expect them to be amicable with demons could be tricky. Only in hedonistic situations that was possible, and this situation was anything but of pleasure.

Keonhee had returned to Seoul two days ago, and Seoho was busy cleaning up the Night Queen’s mess and uniting the divided vampires, as well as taking out any vampires affected by Mr Grant’s experiments.

Finding this Greater Demon’s identity resided solely on Hongjoong’s shoulders. He had contacted numerous warlocks (Victoria, Dongju, Ravn…) and was waiting for a helpful response.

Once inside his apartment, Hongjoong barely had time to put the appetizers in a kitchen cabinet when an urgent yet hesitant knock came. With a tired sigh he unlocked his door, coming face to face with a familiar face. The young Nephilim looked wrecked and on edge, much like he had on Hongjoong’s birthday before confessing a heavy secret.

“Yeosang, what brings you here?” Hongjoong asked as he walked into his kitchen again to put those appetizers to good use.

Yeosang was pacing around, leaving trails of mud all over Hongjoong’s floor.

“I…” the young Nephilim stammered, he ran a hand through his dark hair. Hongjoong put his silver tray with drinks and appetizers down on the living room table before he walked up to Yeosang to calm him down.

“You do not have to talk if you do not wish to do so,” he said, the tense shoulders under his hand falling. “We could simply sit in silence and enjoy these drinks. I came up with a new mix that I have been dying for someone to try out,” he offered with a small smile.

Yeosang exhaled, it was long and hidden with words. He fell onto the couch, taking one of the drinks with an effortless and swift move. His hair, trapping snowflakes, framed his face wildly and beautifully.

Hongjoong had a weak heart for broken and beautiful souls. Like a cracked vase from centuries ago that a mundane had fixed, the cracks visible through its beauty. The warlock sat near the Nephilim, waiting for the other to speak his heart since he so clearly needed and desired to. Hongjoong knew a soul wasn’t as easily fixed as a broken vase, but he could try to lessen that pain a little, even if it was just by listening.

“They left,” Yeosang said. “The Shadowhunters, they all left. It is just Irene and I now—and well, our staff.” He took a sip from the drinks. “Oh, that is… an interesting flavor.”

“I shall take that as compliment,” Hongjoong said. “You knew that your new friends would leave.”

Yeosang looked resentful. “I just never imagined how much it would hurt, or-or how much I would miss…” He shook his head.

“Is this about Seonghwa? About the bond you have formed with him?” Yeosang bit his lip, but gave a short nod. “You miss him.”

“I do. Very much.” He laughed, emptily. “I think it has become very noticeable how much I care for him.”

“And he for you,” Hongjoong added. “If it is strong, he will come back.”

Yeosang took one of the olives on the appetizer plate. “I am not sure about that. He… He has a life in Idris. Despite his father’s betrayal, the Council is very impressed with his actions. He never had a life in New York, never even thought of one, I suppose…” He trailed off, his shoulders sagging. He took another sip. “And I cannot leave New York. I do not want to leave Irene or Mingi alone here. I do not want to leave New York.”

“You hardly have to decide anything right now, Yeosang. Give yourself a break, give Seonghwa a break, to understand and heal from everything that has happened… I doubt it is wise to take a major choices right away.”

The way Yeosang faltered, still nervous and uneasy, made Hongjoong consider he might have come with a request in mind but didn’t know how to formulate it, possibly too afraid to say it out loud. 

Hongjoong waited patiently.

“You gave me that potion, for a dreamless sleep,” Yeosang started suddenly, his eyes fixed on nothing at all. “There are potions and spells for anything.”

“Not anything,” Hongjoong said quietly, his heart sinking.

“There has to be one… There _has_ to,” he insisted, his gaze still lost but now his voice was adopting a strange tone too, as though he was far away in a dark place, losing his mind. “There has to be a potion or spell to undo love,” he whispered, finally looking at Hongjoong.

His eyes were pleading and hopeful, and broken and scared. 

“Yeosang,” Hongjoong said, at a loss of words.

In his long lifetime, he had encountered this specific request—to undo love—many times, but every time someone asked him for it, it caught him by surprise, his heart breaking. Love was wonderful; it could be painful, yes, but so wonderful and strong. He wondered why mortals desired to undo love so much. 

Hongjoong had fallen in and out of love many times, carrying heartbreak with him for very long periods. Most immortals avoided love, naturally, because nothing lasted forever. Hongjoong didn’t think that way. He stopped himself from chuckling hollowly. He didn’t think that way, but he had lost many and had his heart broken by a few. Still, the idea of not cherishing love and giving it new chances, it didn’t feel right.

“Yeosang, you cannot possibly mean that—”

“I do!” Yeosang cried, nearly dropping his drink. He was clutching the glass with his left hand, the right one taking hold of Hongjoong’s forearm. Desperation clung to him.

Hongjoong shook his head. “I cannot do that.”

“I shall hire your services to—”

“ _No_ ,” Hongjoong said sharply. “Anything but that. I can offer you a shoulder to cry on, a silent listener… But not to undo your love. _Never_.”

“You are not my friend then,” Yeosang protested weakly and cruelly.

Hongjoong gave him a dark look. 

“I know you do not mean that, but that does not make it hurt less.”

Yeosang let go of his forearm, his hand dropping in his lap. Guilt and shame danced on his face.

“There is no future for us,” he whispered hoarsely, a promise of tears in the last word, where his voice broke.

“That is _not_ true.”

“Marriage is only possible between a man and a woman, possibly one of the few similarities between Shadowhunters and mundanes… It is frowned upon; and I cannot jeopardize his future.” He swallowed. “It will have to be a secret. I do not know if I can lie for my whole life.”

Hongjoong, for once, didn’t have words of advice. He clenched and unclenched his hands, at a loss. He leaned forward, taking Yeosang’s glass out of his hand, and took his friend into his arms. 

Yeosang shivered once, then he buried his face into Hongjoong’s neck, his tears falling freely.

It was an impossible hour when Yeosang was back in the International Institute, its emptiness and silence was as still unbearable as it had been the morning after the Shadowhunters had left. Though, Yeosang felt a little better after having seen Hongjoong.

He was surprised to find Miss Anne standing in front of his chambers, he hadn’t expected for anyone to be awake. Discreetly, he wiped his eyes and cheeks, hoping there weren’t trails of his tears.

“Miss Anne,” he tried with a cheery tone. “What brings you here?”

“I was meant to give you something,” she admitted, guilt flashing through her eyes. “I regret not having done so sooner, but it is a heavy burden and you were not easy to approach these past days.” 

Yeosang noticed only then that she was holding a napkin enveloping a very small object. Without another word she handed it to him.

“I hope it is not too late,” she said before she left.

Confused, Yeosang unwrapped the napkin. His heart fluttered and then stopped. His skin burned brightly, the tears—which he thought he had tired out—freshly rolled down his cheeks, and his knees hurt as they collided with the stone floor.

A flicker of hope lit his heart.

In his hands he held Seonghwa’s family ring, engraved where the swords once had been, was a rune. The _Agape_ rune that symbolized unconditional love.


	16. A Cursed Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ _Any love blooming from the slayer’s descendants shall be cursed until my return, and I shall kill the last of them._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this will be the last chapter featuring san and wooyoung, their story will continue in the second part of this series, but some important plot points are revealed here that will be resolved in the sequel. hope you all have been well, and i hope you enjoy it!! ^^

**Seoul, November 2nd 2019**

Sneaking out of the Institute of Seoul was as easy as it had been to sneak out of the Institute of Busan, their structures fairly similar, and once one knew how to blend in with the shadows, it was easy leaving any place unperceived. 

With sigil, San hurried down the main stairs and through the corridor toward the Sanctuary, which offered an easy escape out to Seoul’s bustling streets. It was quiet, way past midnight, and dark in the Institute, the low witchlight enough to not make him stumble over the steps and irregular tiles.

He only felt mildly guilty about not warning Yerim he was leaving the Institute that night, usually he confided her with all his secrets and plans, his cousin and _parabatai_ being the only person he had come to fully trust in his life. But with the recent developments and people they had met, he wasn’t sure he could entrust her with his doubts and thoughts; he wasn’t sure she wouldn’t try to to stop him. 

Unlike most nights that he sneaked out, this time it wasn’t for some underground concert or social gathering at a Downworlder establishment, this time it was to subtly interrogate fellow Downworlders about a certain warlock and vampire. There was something that didn’t sit quite right with San.

How fortunate had it been, the previous night, right after they had gotten ambushed, that Park Beomhyuk’s body had been found—and so obviously in front of their eyes. In Han River, no less. It had been too easy, too perfect of a coincidence.

San knew that the Shadowhunters from the Institute of Seoul trusted Hongjoong—had trusted him quite easily—and Seoho too; but San couldn’t shake off the idea that those two hid information from them. They were at an advantage, having been present the first time these abominations had been released into the world.

San was certain they knew more than they were giving away. And he wanted to know _why_ , and _what_ they were hiding.

Then there was the elusive vampire leader, who appeared to be an important puzzle piece in this story—if he really was the same Downworlder Jung Yunho had been banished for, there had to be much he knew. 

Why was he hiding from them? Did he really resent the occupants of the Institute of Seoul, or was there more to his resentment and elusiveness?

The big city was never quite asleep, not that San had expected it. Just like in Busan, there was a constant flow of traffic and mundane workers day and night, maneuvering through their daily lives as they moved to survive another day. 

As he made his way to a Downworlder tavern he had known from the few times he had visited Seoul in the past, he glanced around. There was movement everywhere, making him shiver at the memory of the previous night, when the street before the vampire den had been so devoid of any mundane presence.

He had picked up the distinct scent of death and something rotten and unpleasant. The scent that brought demons with it, but they hadn’t been ambushed by demons, only those abominations, which made San uneasy. About an hour later, Park Beomhyuk’s corpse had been discovered in Han River.

It had to be tied. He was certain.

The Downworlder tavern had a quite uncreative name, in San’s opinion, but it hosted the most well known Downworlders in Seoul and the entirety of South Korea, as well as many guests that mixed the constant come and go of the city. 

One of those regular guests was a faerie named Choi Yeonjun. 

San had met him in Busan a few years ago, when he still had been on the pursuit of finding out if his mother was alive or not, if she wanted him back and had accidentally left him on the doors of the Institute of Busan. Before that, they had both grown up in the Seelie Court.

As any faerie, Yeonjun was compelled to tell San the truth, although at first he had tried hard to speak around it, as any faerie would. Then, he had revealed some truthfully shuddering details regarding San’s mother. Unlike San, who was not welcomed in the Seelie Court, Yeonjun could travel back any time he liked, tied to other faerie folks, and knowing more secrets than he gave away.

Yeonjun looked the same he had all those years ago, his pink hair shimmering brightly in the tavern’s dim lights, a charming smile edged on his face that had a little crowd gathered around him as he spoke of some marvelous tale—one that, San was sure, was not entirely true. 

For a faerie, Yeonjun had mastered the art of twisting the truth fairly well.

The Downworlder tavern was divided in two sections: the front room which looked like any tavern with different seating areas and a bar counter to order drinks; and a back room that was used for the intake of drugs. San spotted two werewolves making a bee-line, their hair dusted with white much like San’s own hair.

He shivered and looked away. He had promised Yerim, he had promised himself.

It didn’t take long for Yeonjun to take notice of him. With his rune covered skin, San was an easy presence to detect in the sea of Downworlders, only his pointy ears blending him into the crowd, but his Angel blood had always been stronger than the faerie one. He had made sure of that once he had known with certainty that his mother loathed him.

Yeonjun smiled hugely, waving San over to him. “Sannie!”

“Yeonjun.”

“What a delightful visit!” He cleared the seat next to him, some disgruntled vampire shot daggers at San. “I did hear you were in Seoul though, it was only a matter of time before you’d show.”

“Well, I can’t resist your company,” San said easily, sitting next to the faerie. Their thighs bumped together, and once that would have made a thrill run up San’s spine, when he had been figuring out his sexuality and gender identity, which Yeonjun had been a great help to, but these days Yeonjun wasn’t really on San’s mind—or any of his previous hook ups.

“What brings you here?” Yeonjun asked, smiling mischievously. “I mean, so late. I would have expected you much sooner.”

San pressed his lips together, thinking of an answer. An honest yet dishonest answer. The truth without directly having to tell it. A faerie truth.

“I have come for answers that I previously didn’t need,” he said, gauging Yeonjun’s reaction.

His face didn’t change. “Of course.” He spread his fingers out, gesturing San to formulate his questions.

“What do you know about Kim Hongjoong?”

Yeonjun smiled. “Not much.”

San rolled his eyes.

“I know he has been around for a long, long time,” Yeonjun continued, taking pity on San’s desperation. “And that many consider his heart a weakness.”

“His heart?”

Yeonjun nodded. “Immortals don’t mingle with mortals. Hongjoong does. It’s unwise, but each to their own.”

Before San could ask about Lee Seoho and his elusive leader, there was an altercation at the entrance of the tavern. San whipped his head around, his hand already hovering over a dagger, when he made out a familiar nose and black hair.

“Wooyoung.” He stared in puzzlement.

Wooyoung stood right by the entrance, discomfort clear in his eyes, as he had his arms raised in a sign of surrender. He was surrounded by three vampires.

“I reckon you know him?” Yeonjun said, entertained.

San scoffed, getting out of his seat to see what the fight was about. 

“This isn’t a place for you, Nephilim,” one of the vampires spat. He had spiky short hair, dressed in leather. He was glaring at Wooyoung balefully.

Wooyoung pursed his lips. He spotted San standing at a short distance. “ _He_ is a Nephilim and you don’t seem to be bothered by his presence,” he pointed out.

The vampire with the spiky hair glanced at San. “He is half-Nephilim. Half of him belongs to us—to the Downworlders.”

San’s skin prickled most uncomfortably.

One of the other vampires surrounding Wooyoung sensed the fight would be over soon and left, dragging her companion away.

“I don’t belong to anyone,” San hissed. He didn’t like the tone of the vampire, the comfortableness with which he had claimed San. “Fuck off.” He shot the vampire a threatening glare, which was returned. The vampire’s eyes moved to someone standing behind San, he bared his teeth once before he walked off, grumbling and cursing under his breath.

“What a valiant rescue,” Yeonjun said good-naturedly, dissipating the tension.

San grabbed Wooyoung’s wrist, dragging him back to the table Yeonjun and him had occupied minutes ago.

“What are you doing here?” he questioned angrily. If Wooyoung was here, it meant he couldn’t further interrogate Yeonjun about Hongjoong and Seoho. 

“I saw you leave,” Wooyoung admitted guiltily. “So I followed you. Sorry.”

San made an irritated sound. He couldn’t be fully angry at Wooyoung, after all he was going behind their backs. 

“Whatever,” he muttered, sitting next to Yeonjun while Wooyoung took the seat opposite them.

“So…” Yeonjun started, studying Wooyoung with interest. “Are you here to interrogate me too?”

San subtly elbowed the faerie.

“No?” Wooyoung answered, confused.

“Shut up, Yeonjun,” San hissed. “Wooyoung, this is Yeonjun. An old friend.”

“An old friend,” Yeonjun repeated with an offended lilt to his voice. “I recall that _very_ differently.” He looked at Wooyoung, winking. “We grew up together in the Seelie Court. Left about the same time. We have been very inseparable.”

San groaned, massaging his temples. “Left is putting it kindly,” he muttered. “Yeonjun, why don’t you get us something to drink?” he asked meaningfully. 

“Gotcha.” With an acerbic smile Yeonjun got up and marched toward the bar counter.

“I apologize. He can be… a lot,” San muttered. Wooyoung shrugged, glancing around curiously. “Why did you follow me?”

“Curiosity,” Wooyoung squeaked out. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have. I know it looks bad.”

“It’s—It’s whatever,” San settled for saying, awkwardly rubbing his neck.

Now that it was just the two of them, he took his time studying Wooyoung. He was dressed in simple jeans, a button up with funny prints on top, and a leather jacket that was a couple of sizes too big on him. His raven hair held some melting snowflakes, and his face was decorated with fading pillow lines. 

He looked adorable, San thought with frustration. He couldn’t quite place Wooyoung.

“Do you come here often?”

San stared at him, first still with tiredness and annoyance, but the question made him laugh, short and surprised.

“Are you flirting with me?”

Wooyoung sputtered. “What? No!”

“Are you sure? The people asking me that usually are flirting.”

“I meant it genuinely.”

“Not as much as I’d like to,” San answered truthfully. “Especially lately, with the recent attacks… It’s not easy to have a fun evening at a tavern these days.” He smiled wistfully. “Once it’s over, I wouldn’t mind taking you here for a concert.”

“Oh.” Wooyoung hid a smile in the palm of his hand, his eyes dancing as he kept them firmly on San. _Adorable_ , he thought. “Sure.”

Yeonjun came back holding three drinks of varying colors. He placed them down on the table, startling the Nephilim.

“What are they made of?” Wooyoung asked politely, although he was eyeing them suspiciously.

“Just regular warlock drinks. Have you gotten drunk on them before?” 

“Yes.” Wooyoung grimaced, as if he recalled an unpleasant memory. “I embarrassed myself greatly.”

“Then this will be fun,” Yeonjun said with a wicked smile.

San rubbed his temples. This was a nightmare.

“Yeonjun,” he muttered warningly.

His old partner meeting his new crush was not a fun combination.

**~*~**

**Seoul, November 6th 2019**

The search for Aidan Magnus was going as expectedly bad. They ran with zero leads and it didn’t help that Hongjoong was growingly worried about his vampire friend, who hadn’t answered to any of his urgent messages and was still in New York, which consecutively caused Seoho and the vampires to be slightly distracted by their elusive leader’s wellbeing.

“His mood often worsens when he travels to New York,” Hongjoong had explained them when he had visited the Institute of Seoul for a quick update on the matters.

“Why does he travel there then?” Hyejoo had asked curiously.

Hongjoong had smiled sadly. “To pay his respects to his old friends. They died in the 50’s, not too long ago. At least for people like us, when 70 years are nothing.”

“Oh…”

Park Beomhyuk’s autopsy hadn’t brought any helpful leads either on who might have worked with him, only startling revelations that Shadowhunters were not safe from these terrible experiments. Their Angel blood did not protect them as much as they’d like. The exact moment of his death had been difficult to pinpoint, but Brother Akoni estimated around the same time the attack on the Institute of Busan had happened, which Wooyoung found incredibly odd and disturbing.

It didn’t help that going out on patrols was becoming an increasingly dangerous task. Whereas once it had been mostly boring and repetitive, now was plagued with abominations and more and more demon attacks. Where Seoul once had been nearly demon free for decades, there were now demons lingering in the shadows every night. 

It was such a patrol night, when Wooyoung and Jongho had been paired up with San and Yerim to patrol west Seoul, near the waters of Han River.

 _Han River,_ Wooyoung thought puzzled. Beomhyuk’s corpse swimming ashore a few days ago, like a given clue—or a careless mistake.

Wooyoung had gone with San to travel above, on the rooftops of Seoul, swiftly and quietly like shadows themselves, while Jongho and Yerim were below, on the streets. So far it had been a quiet night, not any suspicious activity, which made it almost even more suspicious.

After the fire a few nights ago, San had been acting strange during the patrols. Swirling his head around at any sound or movement, alert and concentrated. Wooyoung suspected that with his faerie senses—which were stronger than those of a Shadowhunter, even with their runes and Angel blood—he could detect things that escaped Wooyoung.

When San stilled, his head raised in the air as though he was looking for something, Wooyoung halted, hushing back from the rooftop he had jumped on.

“What is it?” he asked, searching with his eyes but he couldn’t make out anything out of the ordinary. He wasn’t too surprised by San’s sudden change of attitude. He was already stamping it away as another nothingness, when San unlatched his bow from his back.

“Something is nearing. Something big, I think,” San said, a delicate frown between his brows. He raised his bow, expertly getting an arrow, but he didn’t place it on the string just yet. “It’s the same thing from that night, it smells of death and—” His frown deepened. “It’s the same scent I caught the night of the fire, I thought it was just the smoke, but it’s so clear now.”

“Scent of what?” Wooyoung inquired, his heart hammering in his chest. He drew out his seraph blade. The answer was pretty obvious, but it couldn’t hurt to get an affirmation.

“Demons,” San replied.

“Sweet,” Wooyoung grumbled. “ _Sanvi_ ,” he whispered, his blade lighting up in the dim darkness. It was never completely dark in Seoul.

He whistled loudly to warn Yerim and Jongho; he saw their shadows move down on the streets. He signalized Jongho, doing a gesture with his hands that they had developed years ago, to let him know that demons were near. Jongho nodded his head, turning toward Yerim to tell her.

“Something feels wrong,” San said warily. “It couldn’t be, could it?”

“What?” Wooyoung looked at him, growing uneasy.

“What are the chances of a Greater Demon being unleashed upon Seoul?” San wondered, facing Wooyoung. His eyebrows were drawn together, his eyes showing a hint of fear. “We would have known. It couldn’t have passed for so long undetected.”

Wooyoung watched the distance, Seoul slowly falling asleep. The sun had long set behind the horizon, but the stars were still gone—possibly would never show with the light pollution, but they didn’t need to, Seoul did a wonderful job of looking like a starry sky itself with all the twinkling lights.

A Greater Demon in such a large and populated city sounded fatal. The amount of losses… He didn’t even want to imagine.

“Unless it was meant to be unperceived,” he said thoughtfully. “Usually, they are quite present and eccentric, loving to show off their evil deeds, but…” He trailed off. It was true he had never heard of a Greater Demon that stayed in the shadows and operated quietly. Then again, those abominations hadn’t been thought to be possible either until Wallace Grant had created them. “Are you sure it is a Greater Demon you are sensing?” he questioned. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust San, but it sounded impossible. They would have known if a Greater Demon was summoned, there would have been whispers in the Downworld. Hongjoong would surely have told them.

San nodded his head. “What if this was what killed Beomhyuk? This Greater Demon?” 

He was facing Seoul, his black and white hair tousled as a night breeze came and went, taking it upon itself to caress San’s hair. Wooyoung resisted the urge to fix it. Watching him like that, in the dozen lights around them, he looked beautiful. His skin was dark blue, his eyes twinkling, a cloud of breath appearing every time he breathed out, his lips looking redder due to the cold.

Wooyoung’s heart hurt a little. Something about this—about San standing tall and secure, with his bow and white dust of hair and pointy ears, all hiding secrets—was so incredibly nostalgic.

Nostalgic in a way that Wooyoung had never experienced. As though he was missing a first love he never had. If anything, _this_ was becoming his first love.

He blushed at the thought, shaking himself inwardly.

“I highly doubt that. Hongjoong said that the autopsy revealed that Beomhyuk died due to those experiments…” he recalled. “It would have been obvious if a Greater Demon had killed him.”

“A Greater Demon hiding like that surely needs a powerful warlock to conceal it,” San continued, his face unreadable as he watched the city vigilantly. “I know you like Hongjoong, but what if he has been one of the bad guys all this time, fooling us? What if him and Seoho made up the autopsy to hide behind?”

Wooyoung grabbed his blade tightly. He shook his head. “No,” he said decidedly. “No, he isn’t a bad guy. I trust him,” he insisted.

San didn’t reply.

There wasn’t much more time for them to continue their talk as an enormous shadow raised in the air, it was a couple of blocks away from them still. It had wings and looked as though it was made of smoke, until Wooyoung realized the particles surrounding it were smaller demons—masses and masses of lesser demons. Even if they were four expertly trained Shadowhunters, they wouldn’t be able to take them out themselves.

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment. His fingertips were cold, but they cleared his mind. 

On instinct, Wooyoung pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and a pencil—he always carried these items for emergencies like the one he was facing—and wrote down an urgent message before he drew the fire message rune, sending it off to Hongjoong. He sincerely hoped the warlock could help them— _would_ help them, he thought, as San’s doubts regarding Hongjoong found a home in him.

“I don’t say this often, but we’re screwed,” San muttered. He looked dejected as he pulled the arrow back, pointing at the approaching shadow.

Yerim and Jongho’s shouts carried up to the as the first demons stormed the street, a frightening noise as Wooyoung couldn’t see what was happening below. Soon after the sound of San’s arrows piercing through the air came. It hit one of the flying demons, making it explode into ichor.

The Greater Demon was terrible up close: shimmering purple skin that looked more appropriate for a sea monster, its wings had broken patches as if it had faced many enemies before and survived—possibly it’d survive Wooyoung and San too—its face held a pair of intelligent, dark eyes that looked at them with sick amusement. 

Wooyoung never had faced a Greater Demon, had hoped he never needed to. They were strong, manipulative, and terrible. He shuddered at its shadow-y figure hovering over Seoul. It looked strange, he had to admit, almost translucent. He couldn’t recall any Greater Demon with such an appearance.

 _Is it truly here?_ He wondered.

Threateningly, it bared its rows upon rows of sharp teeth, a silent growl. A warning.

Wooyoung grabbed one of his knives and threw it, hitting the Greater Demon in its neck. It wailed, but otherwise it appeared to be unfazed. It seemed to glare momentarily at Wooyoung before it lifted up high in the sky, ignoring the two Shadowhunters. Its minions, however, did not ignore them, out for blood the lesser demons rocketed down toward the rooftops.

Soon enough, San and Wooyoung stood above Seoul with too many demons surrounding them. 

Wooyoung chastised himself for having teamed up with San for the patrol, he should have been with Jongho, his _parabatai_ , perhaps then they could have had a fair chance at beating these demons.

He stopped that train of thoughts, focusing on two winged demons flying down on them at high speed. He managed to slice one of them open, ichor raining down, while the other demon ambushed him, making him stumble backwards and fall.

San shot an arrow at a demon crawling up the wall, then kicked the winged demon off of Wooyoung before using his seraph blade to cut it from its hips to its feathered shoulders.

He reached out his hand to help Wooyoung up, shooting him a brief, encouraging smile.

“Thanks,” Wooyoung muttered, slightly embarrassed.

They stood back to back, nearly touching, as more and more demons stormed the building. The sky was almost a cloud of demons. Wooyoung could only hope that it was going better for Jongho and Yerim down below.

“Well, I had a good run,” San mumbled sarcastically. Wooyoung couldn’t see his face, but he wished he could. If they were to die, he supposed, it’d be a nice sight to have before the big unknown.

“We’re not dying tonight,” Wooyoung insisted, but he had to agree their situation looked bleak.

San huffed out a dry laugh.

They sliced and fought valiantly, but it was nearly impossible to defeat the army, and even if they did, they still had to defeat the Greater Demon hovering in the air over them, laughing at their peril.

A quick shadow moved, then another one, and soon vampires upon vampires were storming the building, aiding the Shadowhunters. 

_Seoho_ , Wooyoung realized gratefully.

One after another, the demons were falling, ichor all they left behind. Through his tiredness, and the burning ichor on his skin, Wooyoung fought until the very last demon was defeated.

“It’s gone,” San said once silence returned to slumbering Seoul. He cursed. 

Wooyoung looked up at the sky and indeed the Greater Demon had vanished. _If it ever truly was here to begin with,_ he thought bitterly.

San looked wrecked: sweat, blood, and ichor equally messing up his fighting gear and hair. A nasty cut ran down his left cheek, his fingertips bloody, ichor slowly burning his sleeves and trousers. He briefly glanced at Wooyoung.

“Don’t worry, that wasn’t its real form,” Seoho said, pushing his hair out of his face. “If it really had been here, it would have been way worse,” he assured them.

“How do you know that?” San inquired, eyebrows raised.

At first it looked as though Seoho wouldn’t reply, but then he started talking, his voice lower than usual, “About 50 years ago, a Greater Demon was set free. It had been waiting in a _Pyxis_. It was slain and returned to its dimension.”

The story sounded familiar to Wooyoung, a Greater Demon released from a _Pyxis_ in the 70’s. There hadn’t been many details about it, why it had been trapped the wooden box or where the _Pyxis_ had been found, like a crystal appearing on the shores of the beach, the _Pyxis_ had appeared one day in Seoul in the hands of a young warlock, who had died after the Greater Demon had been set free.

Wooyoung sadly couldn’t remember who had slain it all those years ago in that moment. The file hadn’t been deemed as important since the Greater Demon had been weak and not caused much havoc. He would have to revisit the file once he was back at the Institute.

“Why didn’t you mention this?” San wondered. He glanced at Wooyoung, as if to say ‘told you so’.

“In my defense, I didn’t think it would be of importance,” Seoho explained. “Besides, it is very curious this Greater Demon has regained its strength to return so soon… It usually takes them longer.”

Their talk was interrupted as Hyunjin appeared from the door that led to the building’s main staircase, Jongho and Yerim in tow. They looked just as worn and torn as Wooyoung and San, but they were alive.

“All clear downstairs,” Hyunjin said. He nodded his head at Wooyoung and San in greeting. “You’re lucky I was just visiting Hongjoong, if not it would have taken way longer for help to arrive.” He glanced around the mess. “And that could have been deadly for you.”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

San still looked reluctant and reserved, doubting Hongjoong’s alliances, but he too mumbled a ‘thanks’.

“That was terrifying,” Jongho admitted, jogging over to Wooyoung so he could apply an _Iratze_ rune, and vice versa. “We need to get you two back to the Institute, before the ichor can seriously do you harm.”

Yerim eyed them. “Did anyone else hear that voice?” she asked, trembling slightly. “The Greater Demon’s voice?”

Dead silent spread over them. Even the constant traffic in Seoul wasn’t loud enough to break the silence. Her words caused more distress, raised more questions, brought on more trouble… 

“No,” San replied, eyeing his _parabatai_ curiously. 

Yerim’s lips thinned. 

“What did it say?” Jongho asked. 

“It said it wanted revenge,” she explained, hesitating before she recited, “ _Any love blooming from the slayer’s descendants shall be cursed until my return, and I shall kill the last of them._ ” She glanced at Wooyoung then, a troublesome look crossing her face.

“Ah,” Seoho only said, his expression mirroring Yerim’s. “It was your grandmother who slayed this Greater Demon. She knew what had to be done, even if the demon threatened her lineage with a curse. It was her great-grandfather’s last wish. Yeosang’s last wish.” 

Wooyoung startled. “ _What_?!” 

“Why haven’t you mentioned this before?!” San repeated his previous question, with more distress this time. His eyes were wide, fury swirling in them.

Seoho looked at him, bothered. “It is unusual for a Greater Demon to be able to curse someone after spending so many years in a _Pyxis_. We believed it was too weakened.” He turned to look at Wooyoung. “Your mother was a healthy child, we didn’t believe the curse affected her, or you for that matter.”

“Hyung…” Jongho muttered, reaching out a comforting hand. He could feel Wooyoung’s distress and confusion.

His mother, who had abandoned him when he had been a child. Had she run away from this curse? He felt sick to his stomach.

“Is there a chance this Greater Demon is tied to the events of 1899?” Yerim suddenly asked. “I find it curious it was Yeosang’s last wish for his great-granddaughter to kill it…”

Seoho’s face darkened, but he replied, “You are correct with that assumption. In 1899 a Greater Demon was summoned, but we never found it. It haunted us for a very long time, we searched and searched until eventually we let it go. When that _Pyxis_ suddenly appeared in the 70’s, we knew…” He stopped abruptly, shaking his head. He let out a hollow laugh. “I suppose that monster was right, it would come back to haunt us.”

“What?” Jongho asked, confused. He was still comforting Wooyoung, but had his face turned toward Seoho.

The vampire again shook his head.

“If the Greater Demon has been summoned, it means that the dark affairs of 1899, that we thankfully could stop at the time, have returned to finish what Wallace Grant started. Whichever his final goal had been then, we will discover soon enough.”

San was eyeing Seoho distrustfully.

Wooyoung admitted it did not look too great for the vampire or Hongjoong that they had been hiding this crucial information.

“So this Greater Demon is not only tied to these returning abominations, but it holds a personal revenge toward Wooyoung?” San recapped. Seoho nodded. “That is just marvelous! Really!”

“San…” Yerim tried, but she faltered. Her cousin’s anger was justified. She too was eyeing the vampires with a hint of distrust.

“Anything else you have failed to tell us? Anyone else that could be in danger, huh?” San was on a roll. Distantly, Wooyoung was touched that San was so angry on his behalf. “Or perhaps, you’d like to tell us more of that leader of yours—”

“ _Enough_!” Hyunjin yelled. He was glaring at both San and Seoho. “Enough,” he repeated, softer. “You’re injured.” He gestured at the Shadowhunters. “You need to head back to the Institute before the ichor burns through your flesh and poisons your blood.”

His words snapped through the air, and pain flared up Wooyoung’s arms, as if only then he remembered he was covered in wounds and demon blood. He gently pushed Jongho off him so he could stand up.

“Hyunjin is right,” he said. “We need to get to the Institute and clean ourselves before this becomes serious.”

With difficulty, San let go of his petty fight with Seoho, nodding his head curtly before storming toward the door that led to the staircase. With an apologetic smile, Yerim followed him.

Seoho looked at Wooyoung as though he wanted to say something regarding the Greater Demon and the curse—an apology, perhaps. What came out, though, was, “He is back.”

“Who?”

“Our leader. He came back from New York just an hour ago. Hongjoong is meeting him tomorrow. Once they have spoken, we will contact you with information we have found.” He smiled sadly then. “We were only protecting ourselves—our old friends. We meant no harm by hiding certain parts of the past.”

Wooyoung didn’t know how to reply, so he didn’t. He grabbed Jongho’s forearm to follow San and Yerim back to the Institute of Seoul.


	17. Turning Pages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that he was leaving Seonghwa again, for an undetermined amount of time, he needed to feel that it was there, and remember his heart was a mirror to Seonghwa’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i admit, writing this chapter was really emotional i cried a few times :(( this fic was such a journey to write, i'll miss it so much

**New York, December 9th 1899**

It was still a notion he was getting used to: finding rest when the first hints of sunshine appeared on the horizon. It caused Mingi pain, he had loved the sunlight and the idle walks through New York, mingling with mundanes. Now, he couldn’t even be near mundanes without hunger growing deep within him, making his mind become irrational and violent. He hated it, but he hid his hatred toward his new identity well.

Yeosang would blame himself terribly—already blamed himself—if he knew how uncomfortable Mingi felt these past weeks. He had adapted fairly well to his inhumane speed and sense of scent and strength, but only because he hadn’t been completely foreign to them as a Shadowhunter, with his Angel blood and the runes.

He supposed, as his closest friend, Yeosang knew Mingi was having trouble with his life as a vampire. The few times they had seen one another in the past two weeks, since the International Institute of New York had returned to its small number of occupants, Yeosang kept glancing at Mingi with guilt ridden looks, lips parted with yet another apology ready to spill out— _I am sorry it was you who suffered this fate. I am sorry I could not protect Hwanwoong better. I am sorry, Mingi._

_I am sorry._

Mingi didn’t blame his friend—he truly didn’t—but Yeosang had always been good at feeling guilty of matters that were out of his hands, taking the world’s blame on his shoulders. It had been the same with his parents’s deaths, which had turned Yeosang into a cynic and incapable of forgiving himself.

It was a consolation to know that through Seonghwa, Yeosang had gotten to recalibrate his own thinking and acting, breaking out of the mold that he’d been catapulted into as a young kid. It still surprised Mingi that they had fallen in love, considering how ill-mannered they’d behaved toward each other, but he saw its strength. It wasn’t a given, and it didn’t always occur that someone would fall in love with one after having glimpsed their truly terrible sides. 

Yeosang and Seonghwa had met each other’s worst selves, and each other’s purest selves. They’d worked through scars and trauma and those family shadows knitted into the fiber of their beings. He’d watch them both get to break free a little of it—break free enough so that they could see a future past those scars.

Mingi had seen how much love Yeosang had for Seonghwa when Mingi had visited the International Institute the previous night. It had been so quiet and lonely, Irene and Yeosang sitting stiff in the dinner hall with Mingi. Later, when they had gone up to Yeosang’s room to lounge lazily in his bed as they comforted one another of the terrible events, Yeosang had admitted, quietly, that he missed Seonghwa terribly.

Mingi could relate, he missed Yunho terribly.

Mingi wasn’t entirely sure where he stood with Yunho. Yunho had traveled back to Idris with Seonghwa, Mina, and Jinsoul about two weeks ago as it had always been the plan. Mingi knew, though, this wasn’t the end of his and Yunho’s story. Sadly, they had to face the reality first, work through it until they found a path that fitted them.

It was frowned upon for Shadowhunters to be with Downworlders—even if that Downworlder once had been a Shadowhunter, if anything it made the matter worse. That wasn’t all that was frowned upon in their relationship. It was the same complicated boat Yeosang and Seonghwa sat in, Jinsoul and Mina sat in. 

Of course these relationships weren’t new or rare, but they were pushed aside and not taken seriously. At least not as a valid future option. Just like _parabatai_ falling in love, they were scorned bonds.

Hongjoong had assured Mingi that between Downworlders it was not looked at with such contempt. It relieved Mingi slightly, but it didn’t change that his significant other was a Shadowhunter, and their future did look bleak in that aspect.

Yunho had written to him recently, saying he couldn’t fathom staying away for too long as he missed Mingi and yearned for them to be together again. His letter had lacked poetry—which Mingi had always thought he’d need in a partner, poetry and a way with words, to make them greater than they appeared—but Yunho had been plain to the point, and Mingi didn’t find that to be so bad. 

Yunho’s boldness while expressing his emotions had a charm of its own, one that made Mingi’s cheeks burn in shyness had he still blood coursing through his veins.

Yunho was to come soon, for a short visit at least, since life in Idris was troublesome. The aftermath of the past months promised new wind in the Council and Nephilim politics: Yunho’s father had had to resign as Consul, leaving the position vulnerably open. There were rumors that they had decided on a new Consul already, but it was a controversial and risky move—many of the conservative and older Shadowhunters did not want a woman to take the position—and Irene was too anxious to give an immediate response. 

She did not want to accept the role as the new Consul only to find herself confronted with enemies within Idris that would try to push her off this high position, and would sabotage all her decisions. She had time until January to decide, which gave her some weeks to think it over and work through the injuries of the past months.

Yeosang had greatly encouraged her, as had Mingi, but they both couldn’t fathom the unjust treatment she faced. 

“If you keep thinking so hard, that wrinkle will be permanent, Mingi,” Hongjoong quipped as he let himself fall into the couch. Miraculously, his drink did not spill. Mingi had come to wonder if Hongjoong bewitched his drinking glasses to not spill. “What are you so dreadfully thinking about anyway?”

“Oh, I do not think I have got the words to minimize it.” He moved his fingers toward the bridge of his nose, as if to move up a pair of glasses, before he remembered he didn’t wear them anymore—he had no need to. Awkwardly, he let his hand fall into his lap. The bridge of his nose tingled, the phantom of his thin framed glasses resting on it. 

Hongjoong eyed him worriedly. “You can talk to me, Mingi. Lord, after everything—” He faltered. It was very unlike Hongjoong to let words die on the tip of his tongue, but Mingi had seen it happen often these past weeks. Usually, he was so certain and convinced, or at least good at hiding in front of others.

Mingi felt a strange surge of something—fondness, respect, humbleness.

“I was thinking about Yunho and I’s relationship,” he began hesitantly. “About the offer Irene has gotten from the Council, and Yeosang…” He bit his lip, passing a hand through his blood red hair. He felt strange about it now. He had nightmares, his hands painted the same color as his hair, no recollection of what he’d done, if he’d done something. He shuddered, pushing the thought away. “Our uncertain futures, and all the open ends. The Greater Demon, the feeling that we have not truly defeated Wallace Grant and Park Jinhyuk.” He shook his head, panic crawling up his throat.

Hongjoong passed a hand over Mingi’s shoulder, pulling him in.

“I know,” he whispered, sighing heavily. “I know it does not look bright, but believe me when I say the worst is behind us—for now. Let us enjoy the next weeks, Christmas is soon and New York is a breathtaking view. A New Year is coming, full of possibilities.”

“Full of failures,” Mingi muttered.

Hongjoong made a strange sound, like a surprised, pained laugh. “I was not aware you were so gloomy!”

“I am not. I am realistic.”

“Being pessimistic is not always being realistic,” Hongjoong told him. “We are more prone to believe it is, but…” He shook his head, dismissive. He took a sip from his drink. “It is good to have hope, Mingi. Hope is important. Hope is _realistic_.”

Mingi clenched his hands. He tried to let those words in, to believe in hope, but he felt so incredibly hopeless. Distraught and with a strong need to cry until his chest hurt.

“Mingi,” the warlock insisted. “Do not give up hope, not on yourself, not on your friends. And if you ever do feel like giving up, seek me out.”

Mingi nodded, not quite understanding the importance of those words at the time yet.

**~*~**

**New York, December 11th 1899**

Yunho arrived at dusk, dressed in leather trousers and an olive linen button up, a thick woolen coat lazily thrown over his shoulders. From his belt hung a seraph blade and several knives. His hair was freshly cut, shorter than Mingi had ever seen it. 

One moment the dinner hall had consisted of only Yeosang, Irene, and Mingi—and he had almost been able to forget the latest horrors, that it was just as it always had been, that his _parabatai_ would walk through the doors any moment—and the next moment, Yunho had been catapulted through the portal.

“ _Phew_.” He coughed. “Sorry for being late, there was a _long_ queue at the Gard,” he said apologetically. 

Mingi’s insides twisted, it wasn’t as it once had been, Yunho’s appearance made that very clear. Hwanwoong would never walk through the doors again. At the same time, Mingi felt a surge of affection for Yunho, his awkward yet casual entrance lifted the somber mood in the dinner hall.

“Yunho!” Irene shot up from her seat. “What a pleasure to see you again!”

“Likewise, Irene.” Yunho bowed, but Irene took him into a tight hug, nearly breaking his bones.

Yeosang was standing behind Irene. He moved in to hug Yunho too. “We have missed you,” he muttered only for Yunho to hear. “It is good to have you back, even if just shortly.”

After the heartwarming reunion, they sat at the large table. Irene beckoned the staff over to join them for the dinner, she had been doing it often these days. Mingi figured it was because she had decided to take on the position as Consul and was trying to spend as much time as possible with the people closest to her.

“I must say it is incredibly nice to be back,” Yunho said, folding a napkin on his lap. “I have missed New York—and its people. Mingi promised me a tour since I have barely seen anything the past two months we were here.” He addressed Yeosang then, “Would you like to come along?”

Yeosang shrugged, glancing at Mingi. “Perhaps…” He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“Yeo, you are always welcome to join us.” Mingi rolled his eyes. “It does not change now that—” He stopped himself, clearing his throat. Yunho and him hadn’t really told anyone of their relationship, Yeosang and Seonghwa just kind of _knew_ ; and Hongjoong had been present, watching it unfold in front of his eyes—he had been incredibly supportive throughout it all.

Mingi knew Irene would not judge them, she loved Mingi dearly. But they wanted to keep it a secret for now.

“I will accompany you,” Yeosang said quickly, sensing Mingi’s slight panic.

“It is a magical time now,” Irene commented with a wistful glance out of the window. “Which reminds me, I received an invitation from Hongjoong for a celebration at his mansion the 26th. The invitation extends to you three.”

“Hongjoong throws the best parties,” Yunho said, excited. “I will gladly accept his invitation.”

Irene nodded, pleased. “If you see Seonghwa in Alicante, let him know he is invited too.”

Yunho’s gaze wavered.

“I, ah, will tell him, but he has been very busy. I am not sure he will have time.”

Mingi saw Yeosang tense, his eyes fixed on his half empty plate of food. He knew Yeosang hadn’t talked to Seonghwa since his departure, but farther than that he was in the dark when it came to his best friend’s relationship. He wished he could do more, but Yeosang wouldn’t accept any pity or help.

“Ah, I am full!” Yunho exclaimed, sensing the awkwardness and tension that had spread after the mention of Seonghwa’s name. He glanced at Yeosang, then back at Mingi. “Show me to my room,” he asked.

“Gladly!”

Mingi jumped out of his seat. He fixed his white button up and black linen pants, scared they had wrinkled too much. He had fixed himself with the help of Hongjoong and Yeosang, who were both considerably better at fashion than him. Yeosang had even helped him style his hair into the fashionable hairdos many young mundane men wore these days, slicked back with product. He wishes he still had his glasses, they often had felt like a form of protection too, not just a seeing aid.

“Thank you for letting me stay once again, Irene,” Yunho said, bowing his head. “I wish you two a pleasant night,” he added, glancing at Yeosang.

Mingi helped Yunho carry his bag up to his chamber, it was the same he had inhabited during his stay in October and November.

“How are they doing?” Yunho asked in a quiet voice as he unpacked his bag. 

Mingi was sitting on the four post bed, plucking at a loose thread sticking out of a pillowcase.

“Better, I think.” He shrugged a little helplessly. “I have not been able to be around much. I have been spending most of my time in Manhattan and Queens.”

“Do you know if Irene will accept the position as Consul?” Yunho asked. 

“I believe so.”

“That is good news. She will do a fantastic job, I know so.” He folded his sleeping clothes on the bed, and then sat next to Mingi. “What about Yeosang?”

“Ah, I hardly know. He is doing better than he did before meeting Seonghwa, but it has been difficult for him. With Hwanwoong gone and I—” He had to stop, his chest hurting. “He misses Seonghwa.”

Yunho squeezed Mingi’s hand, smiling warmly at him.

“You promised me a romantic walk through New York,” he said, pulling Mingi up from the bed. “And you said you would show me your new place in Manhattan, Seoho’s vampire den.”

Mingi managed a smile, letting himself feel lighter as Yunho dragged him out of his chamber.

“Come on. I took a _siesta_ earlier, I am full of energy to explore."

“ _Siesta_?” Mingi echoed, frowning at the unfamiliar word.

“Learned that when Seonghwa and I stayed at the Institute of Madrid,” Yunho explained. “Something like napping.”

Mingi hummed.

They ventured into cold, cold New York, snow piled on the streets and sidewalks, nearly as tall as a stray cat. It was quieter with the snow lying around, the sound of the first allowed automobiles in New York was quieter too, their loud engines turned into a quiet rumble, like thunder. At a distance they heard Christmas carols being sung, and the more populated areas of Brooklyn were decorated with warm Christmas lights.

From the street it was easy to peek into some apartments, those that could afford it had illuminated Christmas trees. It was a fancy and beautiful new tradition, Mingi found.

“One day we have to get one of those,” Yunho said, as if reading his mind.

“I agree. I am sure Hongjoong would be on board,” he said. “If he does not already have one.”

Seoho had bought—with Hongjoong and Keonhee’s help—a tall and modern building in the heart of Manhattan for his new vampire clan. Each vampire with a personal room, not the cluttered mess Seoho had lived through in Cara’s den.

Mingi’s room was fairly simple: the windows were covered with thick, black curtains that kept all light out; next to the window stood a bookshelf filled a variety of books and curiosities; his bed and desk stood opposite of the window, made of dark oak wood; next to the desk was a small and circular table, a piece of undistinguished cloth put over a large object standing on it; in the middle of the room were two seats and another small table, lower than the other one, scattered on it were books and papers. There was no art decorating the room, no distinct objects or personal belongings, as Mingi was still moving in and getting used to his new home. Most of the time he only slept in there, preferring Hongjoong’s apartment in Queens or the International Institute in Brooklyn.

Yunho let himself plop down onto one of the seats, staring around with wide, inquisitive eyes.

“It looks quite nice,” he said. “Fancy and elegant.”

Mingi managed a smile. 

“I have some bottles of high quality rum and whiskey, courtesy of Hongjoong. He insisted I have them here in case he drops by for an impromptu visit.” He rolled his eyes fondly. “Anything of your liking?”

Yunho inspected the cabinet below the desk, he picked out a whiskey, after unscrewing it he sniffed it. “This will suffice. Thank you.”

Mingi poured Yunho the whiskey, and a glass of blood for himself. He disguised it in a wine glass, hoping not to disgust Yunho too much.

The Shadowhunter noticed, smiling sadly. “Mingi, you do not have to feel ashamed. I am in _your_ home, you should not have to hide.”

Mingi swallowed, looking at the blood. He felt sick still, about drinking it. He needed it, but it didn’t change the tightness in his abdomen, the tension in his shoulders when he passed mundanes on the streets.

“Let us toast for a more cheerful future,” Yunho carried on, angling his low glass of whiskey so that all Mingi had to do was to gently tip his wine glass forward. With a sigh he did, a light and clear _clink_ sounded through his bedroom.

 _A toast of whiskey and blood_ , he thought, gruesome.

“To a more cheerful future,” Mingi echoed, a little sarcastically.

It was hard to imagine a cheerful future after the dreadful past.

Yunho pressed his lips together, but took a sip of the whiskey. “Hongjoong has exquisite taste!”

“Oh, you are about to praise him even more,” Mingi said, moving to the circular table near the desk. Yunho watched him with interest. “He said it was an early Christmas present: a gramophone!”

“Oh, my!” Yunho stood up to inspect it. They weren’t as modern anymore, pretty much anyone had one standing in their mansion or apartment in New York, but Yunho marveled at it. For Shadowhunters they weren’t as usual. “How does it work?”

“I hope I still remember,” he muttered. He put the only vinyl he currently possessed in the adequate slot, placing the needle atop the black surface. “This should do.”

After a short silence, music filled Mingi’s small room. Yunho looked delighted.

“We should dance!” he exclaimed, leaving his drink on the desk. He reached out his hands for Mingi to take. “We have not really had a chance to do so since that time at Hongjoong’s.”

“Fair warning, I still am as terrible as I was back then. I have not had any chance to practice.”

“Do not worry, I will guide you,” Yunho promised him. One hand around Mingi’s shoulder, the other around his waist. Mingi’s hands rested on Yunho’s waist, fingers tightening.

The Shadowhunter gently swayed them to the gramophone’s music.

Mingi felt a bit shy as Yunho held him, spun him, and kept smiling at him with so much warmth and love. He felt compelled to glance down at his feet, partly to make sure he wasn’t misstepping either, but Yunho kept placing a finger underneath Mingi’s chin, making him look up again. 

It was frustrating, but in the best way possible.

The song changed to a slow but powerful melody, something exotic and unlike the usual music heard in parties around New York. Yunho tilted his head.

“What kind of music is this?”

Mingi shrugged. “I am not sure. It was a present of Hongjoong too. I just trusted that he picked out something nice.”

“It sounds like a quick heartbeat,” Yunho said thoughtfully.

“Heartbeat?” Mingi echoed, though he could hear it. That low repetition of the beat, steady and loud, driven by something powerful. He thought back to his days alive, before becoming a vampire, when he’d started to fall for Yunho, his heart sounding just like this beat any time Yunho paid attention to him, whether it was an attentive comment or a subtle touch.

“A very specific kind of quick heartbeat,” Yunho continued, meeting Mingi’s eyes. He seemed to be thinking the same as the vampire. That it sounded like an erratic heart in love, yearning for a kiss, a touch, a confession.

Yunho’s eyes darkened. Mingi’s fingers twitched.

It always sort of came out of nowhere when they kissed, from a small flicker they both barely noticed, to the sudden, bright fire that consumed them, and moved them toward one another. No shame in their quickly exploring hands, once that flame started, it was difficult for Mingi to keep his hands away, to keep them steady on Yunho’s waist or around his shoulders. No; he felt compelled to move them from Yunho’s hipbones up his chest, one hand toward the nape of his neck so Mingi could grab the base of his hair and tug at it; his other hand resting over Yunho’s flying pulse.

Once that fire started in both of them, they surrendered to passion. Yunho kissed Mingi hungrily, his lips hot and soft, quick to open Mingi’s mouth, his tongue running over Mingi’s bottom lip enticingly. Seconds later, Yunho’s lips traveled down his jaw, over his neck. 

A shiver ran up Mingi’s spine; his neck was his most sensitive spot, which Yunho knew and loved to tease.

“Bed,” Mingi said, voice raspy, and dragged Yunho toward his bed.

“ _Yes_.”

Yunho pushed Mingi onto the mattress and climbed on him, bending down immediately to kiss Mingi again, his fingers expertly undoing the buttons of Mingi’s white button up. His hands were hot on Mingi’s cold skin. 

He gasped. 

“Mingi, you look,” Yunho muttered between kisses, “you look striking. I have never seen a boy as beautiful.”

Mingi wanted to protest, but before he could, Yunho’s lips were back on his, his hands pushing the white button up down Mingi’s torso, and his hips moving rhythmically. Slowly, there were barely any thoughts in Mingi’s mind, much less any to formulate and dispute Yunho’s previous statement.

If Yunho kissed him like that, ran his hands over Mingi’s skin like that, well, Mingi didn’t have much place to argue; and possibly he did feel beautiful underneath Yunho.

The night stretched out over Manhattan, unbeknown to the two boys. They kissed for hours, senselessly, until Mingi’s lips felt like the only place in his body that had nerves, everything else had fallen and succumbed. 

He was as taut as a bow, and at the same time undone and pliant.

Suddenly, Yunho leaned back, Mingi chased his mouth, but Yunho kept his distance. He stared down at Mingi, his hair a wild mess and his cheeks pink. His eyes were dark and full of affection.

“I need to say it,” he whispered. “This moment has filled me with such a—” He swallowed, tears swimming in his eyes. Mingi frowned, reaching up his hand to catch the tears before they fell.

“What is it, Yunho?”

“You are so very dear to me, Mingi, and I have this fear that I do not tell you enough. That my words will never be enough to fully express my affections for you,” he said, his voice trembling. “You are so much better with words than I, but I promise you any grand words of love, I feel them for you.”

Mingi would blush, his heart would burst, but he was dead—a vampire—instead he lay frozen, staring up at Yunho speechlessly. His fingers trembled when he took Yunho’s face in his hands, pulling him close so he could kiss him hungrily. Yunho might think he didn’t have the words for it, but all he said, reached Mingi. 

Mingi understood, and the gentleness of Yunho’s touches and kisses moved him too.

“You are very dear to me too, Yunho,” Mingi confessed at last, in a quiet voice.

Yunho let his forehead rest against Mingi’s, his eyes close. Mingi moved his hands down Yunho’s back, feeling the bumps of his spine, his taut muscles, the scars of his runes. He wished they could stay like this forever.

As if he had read his mind, Yunho said, “Forever should exist in this room.”

Mingi smiled wistfully. “Any time we are here, we can create one little forever.”

“I wish I could stay for longer than just two nights,” Yunho said, leaning back so he was sitting on Mingi’s lap. Mingi sat up too, his head tilted. He could sense Yunho wanted to say more. “It has been awful in Idris. I cannot stop thinking about you, and Hongjoong, and this newfound home in New York. I never thought I would find something like that.” He searched Mingi’s face. “I would like to come back and stay longer. Stay forever.”

“But our futures look so different: you are meant to become Consul one day, possibly after Irene.” He swallowed, looking away. “I am a Downworlder, a vampire. This should not—”

Yunho interrupted him, “I could live here, in New York, with you! I could help out at the International Institute. I do not care much for what they have to offer me in Idris if it is not with you—”

“You should,” Mingi interrupted him, though he wished the contrary. “You should care, and you should not throw it all away for—me.” He wanted to add that he was immortal, that Yunho’s short life should not be dependent on Mingi’s immortal one. It didn’t feel fair.

He glanced away, pained. 

Behind him, Manhattan was opening its eyes: the first sun rays breaking through the thick clouds, highlighting the thin layer of snow that had fallen all night long. Morning, the time of day Mingi missed the most. He missed the mist that spread through the city; the sunrise, a day’s first spectacle; the slow bustle of the mundanes as they woke up… 

But the morning had become Mingi’s night, his dusk, his moment of rest. His weakness.

“It would not just be for you, it is for me too,” Yunho said, his brown eyes held so much kindness. The eyes Mingi had fallen in love with. Always warm and reassuring, and tugging him forward. Yunho cupped his face then, his thumb brushing Mingi’s cheek gently, as if wiping away a tear, though Mingi couldn’t cry anymore. “I love you, Mingi; that will never change, no matter what I choose, no matter the outcome,” Yunho continued, still holding his face so gently, so preciously. “And I am not throwing anything away, it simply is a change of plans.”

If Mingi had a beating heart still, it’d burst—he felt his love for Yunho differently now. If possible, even stronger than before. His heart might have been dead, but he felt so _alive_ , his heart burned for Yunho, every cell in his body reached out for him, moved as he did.

“Please do not take any rash decisions just yet,” Mingi asked of him. “Think about it. I will always be waiting here.”

**~*~**

**City of Bones, December 14th 1899**

Frankly, if the City of Bones could be avoided in one’s life, it should.

Seonghwa eyed the interior of the Silent City with mild disgust and awe, he knew it was a sacred place and the Silent Brotherhood was powerful and important, yet it didn’t take away the queasiness he felt or the shivers that ran up and down his spine as he followed Brother Akoni to the cell his father was being held in.

He hadn’t received a trial yet. Idris was facing chaos and dreadful repercussions. The Consul had resigned, the Council was furious and torn after Park Jinhyuk’s betrayal. They first had to settle their disagreements and find a new Consul before they could move on with Jinhyuk’s trial.

It didn’t change much for Seonghwa. 

He felt a sense of obligation coming there that day, the letter of the Council buried in his trousers. He knew his father wouldn’t care; possibly he would say some spiteful and vexing things, but Seonghwa wanted to tell him anyway. 

Maybe it was the pettiness he felt, the utter need to prove his father wrong, once and for all.

Brother Akoni had congratulated him the moment Seonghwa had shown up. It had been strange, with Brother Akoni’s expressionless face and voice, but Seonghwa had appreciated it. After all, the Silent Brother was his uncle, his family.

Maybe, Seonghwa hoped, deep down, that his father would feel regret and try to right his wrongs. It was wishful thinking, he knew that, but he had to try. He had to talk to him one last time. For closure, he supposed.

Yunho and Mina disagreed of it; if Yeosang knew, he would too.

 _Yeosang_ ; the name echoed, with a painful crack in his heart.

They hadn’t talked for over two weeks, since Seonghwa’s departure from the International Institute of New York, but he knew Yeosang was doing fairly well as Yunho had visited Mingi in New York recently, getting to know his new home with Seoho and the vampire clan in Manhattan. His friend had returned with a strange quietness hanging around him, deep in thought, not much of a talker these days. Seonghwa knew there was something heavy on his shoulders, but whatever it was, Yunho wasn’t ready to share it.

“You should write him a letter. Tell him the good news,” Yunho had said. “He misses you.”

The words had caused a storm in him, whirling through and leaving nothing but a wreckage. Seonghwa had left his family ring with Yeosang, he’d done all he could to leave his message clear. He’d wanted to yell at Yunho, _If he misses me, why have I not heard a word of him?!_

But he had kept quiet, ashamed of his desperation and frustration. He understood Yeosang might need time, but Seonghwa felt as though he was running out of time, the letter in his pocket heavy.

Brother Akoni stopped in front of a cell. The door looked heavy and old, in the witchlight it had a grayish glow. A square window was in the middle, four thick metal preventing anyone from fitting their hand through.

 _We are here. Seonghwa_ , he sounded wary, _be careful. He has become very unpleasant since his arrival at the Silent City._

Seonghwa nodded. “Thank you, uncle.” He turned to face the cell, knocking with more hesitance than he wished.

 _Park Jinhyuk, you have a visitor,_ Brother Akoni spoke.

Seonghwa swallowed, staring at the meal bars with apprehension. At first, he thought he was face to face with a ghost. Jinhyuk was pale, his cheekbones standing out unhealthily, his raven hair, which had been once kept stylish and clean, was now greasy and hanging over his forehead messily. His dark brown eyes looked like empty sockets, but the moment they focused on Seonghwa a depraved and revolting glimmer flickered in them.

Like hope, but worse. _Revenge_.

“Father,” Seonghwa said before Jinhyuk could speak. 

Jinhyuk laughed, though it could have been a scoff too. It was hard to tell.

“Seonghwa, Seonghwa, Seonghwa.” It sounded so condescending, as if Seonghwa was nasty little child that had done something very stupid, something he did not yet understand. “My son.”

“I wanted to know how you were.” 

“Liar!” Jinhyuk hissed, coming close to the bars. He fit his hand through two metal bars, only his fingers. _A skeleton’s hand_ , Seonghwa thought with a shiver. “Liar! You have come to gloat about your victory, but foolishly so! You are no victor, Seonghwa!” He laughed; this time it was undoubtedly a laugh, cruel and hollow. “Do you hear me brother? Beomseok! Ah, no, Brother _Akoni_.” He snorted in contempt. 

Seonghwa glanced at his uncle, who had the same expressionless face as ever, but the way he tilted his head seemed painful and exasperated, as if to say ‘Not again.’

“Father,” Seonghwa said sharply.

“Do not call me that!” Jinhyuk yelled, his fingers moving as if he tried to scratch Seonghwa. His face was close to the bars now. “You have lost your father the moment you betrayed me.” He huffed. “When you sided with the Kang boy, that deviant little kid. There is no hope for him, you are wasting your time befriending that lost case.”

“Quiet!”

Jinhyuk’s eyebrows raised. Something infinitely cruel passed through his eyes. He studied Seonghwa with more contempt than before, as he truly despised him now. 

Seonghwa swallowed, identifying that look. He clenched his fists. He had to talk, he had to before his father would. Hurriedly, he pulled the letter out of his trousers. “I came here,” he said, his voice thin. He cleared his throat. He wasn’t in his father’s grasps anymore, his father was locked away and facing a trial. He’d never see the light of the day again. There was no reason for his fear, for his doubts… “I came here,” he tried again, holding his face impassive in the face of Jinhyuk’s cruelness. “To share some good news with you. I suppose it does not matter, I am not even sure why I bothered…” He glanced at the letter, the Council’s seal on the bottom of it shimmering blueish in the witchlight.

It seemed to catch Jinhyuk’s curiosity, he tilted his head like an owl. “What? What is it?”

“No.” Seonghwa shook his head. “No, it does not concern you anymore.”

Jinhyuk was chained, he couldn’t hurt Seonghwa anymore. What Seonghwa needed to let go of was the notion that he needed his father’s approval, that he had lost a piece of him by losing his father. That wasn’t true, he’d always been entirely free of him.

He hadn’t lost anything, he’d only gained.

He had gained Yeosang’s friendship and love, he’d gained new allies and friends, a new future, a sense of freedom of belonging.

“Uncle,” he said, turning away from the cell, from his father and his past, to face Brother Akoni, “I am ready to leave.”

“ _No_!” screamed Jinhyuk. “No, you must tell me! I am ordering you!”

 _I am sorry_ , Brother Akoni’s voice was resonating in Seonghwa’s head. _It must not be a pleasant sight._

“It is not,” Seonghwa told him as they ascended the staircase, Jinhyuk’s wails bouncing on the walls and following them. “But thank you for letting me see him anyway.”

Brother Akoni nodded.

_If you ever need anything, you know where to find me._

“Actually, there might be something I need of you, uncle.”

**~*~**

> _Alicante, Idris_
> 
> _December 15th 1899_
> 
> _Dear Yeosang,_
> 
> _I presume you have been well off, though no word has reached me of yours. I must admit it sparked insecurity, especially after the gift that I have left with you. I hope it was not too forward, that it has not scared you off._
> 
> _I know this path is riddled with hardships, but for you I would risk them all. With you, it is worth any complication I might encounter._
> 
> _If you return the sentiment of the ring, and the rune, if that night before my departure holds any meaning to you, I am begging you, let us meet._ _I wish to talk to you about it all._
> 
> _Most sincerely,_
> 
> _Seonghwa_

**~*~**

**Alicante, Idris, December 18th 1899**

It had been long since Yeosang had last visited Alicante, he’d almost forgotten its enormous glass spirals, the demon towers—granting it its other name: City of Glass—warding the city from demons, and the constant flow of Shadowhunters of all ages. After the staggering lack the past few weeks—only him and Irene in the large Institute—he felt momentarily overwhelmed by so many Shadowhunters bundled in one place.

He thought he’d gotten used to the loneliness, but as it turned out he hadn’t; he never would. It had been pretend, his comfortableness in lonesomeness, the strength of putting up walls… It had been all pretend, when Seonghwa—and Yunho and Jinsoul and Mina—had come to New York two months ago, he’d been stripped of all his pretense.

He pulled out the slip of paper Seonghwa had sent him, with an address in Alicante. He’d said it would be too dangerous for them to meet in his father’s mansion: the Council was searching through Jinhyuk’s belongings, and Seonghwa and his mother were moving, so the mansion was packed with family friends helping them move boxes and furniture.

 _We will be safer meeting in Alicante_ , he had written. _Brother Akoni’s old house is vacant, so we should meet there. I have recently moved there._

After exiting the Gard, Yeosang made his way through the City of Glass. The houses, piled atop each other, were mostly made of gold and honey-colored stone with roofs of red tiles; the canals dispersed like veins, the water of the river flowing through them. All around Alicante was a magnificent green. South of it were the Brocelind Planes, beyond them the Brocelind Forest and Lake Lyn; many Shadowhunters had their mansions scattered about. North of Alicante were silhouettes of tall mountains, and beyond them lay Germany.

It was late already, dusk hanging thickly over Idris, a cold wind blowing as winter was deeply rooted in this region of Europe. Yeosang pulled his coat tighter around his frame, shivering. 

When he reached the house, a little thing near one of the many canals, warm light pouring out on the cobblestone path outside it, his heart did a funny little trick in his chest. It soared and crashed and soared again, his breathing came out shallow, and his hands trembled as he knocked on the door. 

He saw movement behind the curtain, and seconds later Seonghwa opened the door.

They stared at one another, as if surprised they were seeing each other even though the meeting had been planned.

Seonghwa’s raven hair had grown since the last time they’d seen each other, it was the wild mess that Yeosang had come to love. He was dressed in leather pants, a row of throwing knives hanging from his belt, tucked into the pants was a red linen shirt, buttoned all the way up to his neck. The color made the red of his lips so much brighter and tantalizing.

Yeosang swayed on his feet, entranced. He looked so good.

The house was of simple construction: there was a small kitchen with a fireplace, flames dancing in it, a tea kettle on the stove; the living room held a small table with four chairs, a desk shoved to the far end with a single bookshelf to its left, a door to its right. The door was ajar: Yeosang could see a narrow hallway, probably leading to the bedroom and bathroom.

“Come in,” Seonghwa said, blinking himself out of his own stupor. “I reckon you had a pleasant trip?”

Yeosang nodded. “It’s been years since I last was here,” he told him, getting rid of his woolen jacket. Seonghwa took it to hang it by the door. “I think… Last I was _actually_ in the city was my last day at the Academy.” He smiled, a little ruefully, as he remembered those days. It felt like an entirely different life, not his own. 

The corners of Seonghwa’s lips twitched, as if he tried not to smile. “The Academy…” he said, contemplating something. “We have come a long way since.”

“We have,” Yeosang agreed.

They were standing in the small kitchen, the tea kettle on the verge of boiling. Seonghwa had put out two cups and saucers, they were of different, bright colors. On the living room table there were plates and bowls with small portions of homemade food, they smelled heavenly. Yeosang hadn’t realized how hungry he was. 

“How have the past weeks been?” Yeosang inquired. He swallowed his desperation to reach out and kiss Seonghwa.

“Busy, hectic,” Seonghwa said. He looked tired, the dark circles under his eyes suddenly very prominent. Yeosang wondered what he’d been dealing with since returning to Idris. He had heard gossip and rumors, and bits and pieces Yunho had told him, but not the whole picture—not Seonghwa’s picture. “I have been offered a position in the Council.”

Yeosang’s heart dropped. He thought of Seonghwa’s letter; _I know this path is riddled with hardships, but for you I would risk them all. With you, it is worth any complication I might encounter._

“I accepted,” Seonghwa continued, holding Yeosang’s gaze, waiting for a reaction.

Yeosang swallowed. 

“You will stay in Alicante then?” 

“Yes, but I—”

The tea kettle’s high pitched whistle interrupted him. Both Shadowhunters flinched, turning to the source of the sound. Yeosang had completely forgotten about it. Seonghwa took the kettle off the stove and poured them each a cup of tea. He walked Yeosang to the living room table, smiling abashedly at the wide selection of food on it.

“All this for me?” Yeosang asked, trying to sound casual and archly, but when Seonghwa nodded, his eyes serious, ears red, Yeosang’s playful bravado faltered, and all he was left with was his wildly beating heart and shyness creeping up to his cheeks until they were a bright red. “Oh.”

“I hope it is not too much.” Seonghwa wasn’t referring just to the food, Yeosang realized, but the gesture in itself. He swallowed, shaking his head.

“It is perfect, thank you.” 

“About our conversation before,” Seonghwa started after they’d sat down, silently blowing the steam off their tea cups, awkwardly eyeing the huge mountain of food. “I would live in Alicante at first, but I could move to New York, become part of the local Enclave…”

“I could move to Alicante,” Yeosang said slowly. He’d never truly considered it, he didn’t like the City of Glass, and his old family house wasn’t in conditions to be lived in, years of negligence had turned it into nature’s residence, surrendered to vines and thistles and cobwebs.

“Yeosang, no. Absolutely not.” Seonghwa shook his head decidedly. “Your home is New York, I know that. You should not sacrifice your happiness there for me.”

Yeosang averted his gaze. “Irene will most likely accept the position as Consul, she will move here. Someone else could become Head of the Institute, and carry on its legacy…”

“That cannot be what you want.”

“I do want to be with you,” Yeosang said, though Seonghwa was right. The International Institute was his _home_ , for so long he’d always envisioned himself as the Head one day; but his future had begun to shape around Seonghwa too. 

Seonghwa stayed silent, his eyes cast downward, his long eyelashes fluttered over his cheeks like a raven’s wing. When he looked up his eyes were dark, the brown in them just a thin sliver around the deep, black pupils.

Yeosang held his breath.

“Be with me tonight,” he whispered, voice tight with so much he seemed to hold back. “But go back in the morning. Go back to New York, to Irene and Mingi, and Hongjoong. You do not belong here, in Alicante.”

Yeosang clenched his jaw. “How would you know, Seonghwa? How would you say something like this?”

“Yeosang… I know you love New York, it is where your heart belongs.”

“It belongs to you too,” he insisted.

Seonghwa shook his head, though there was a small smile on his lips. “Do not try to make me waver. Please think of yourself too when you decide your future.” Yeosang parted his lips, but Seonghwa wasn’t quicker. “If you say ‘our future’ I shall have you cursed by a demon.”

“I was not going to say that,” Yeosang said innocently, but Seonghwa had seen right through him.

“Shut up,” Seonghwa said, then he leaned forward, around the edge of the table, to kiss Yeosang. 

It was a fervent kiss, a hint of annoyance in the hand that snaked around Yeosang’s head until Seonghwa could roughly tug at his hair, a hint of desperation in the tongue that opened Yeosang’s mouth and deepened the kiss. Seonghwa’s other hand clasped around Yeosang’s shoulder, holding himself so he wouldn’t topple over. 

Yeosang responded hungrily, he’d been waiting for nearly a month to kiss him again. The separation had been dreadful, but necessary, and now that he was kissing him again, was hearing his voice and feeling those hands on his skin, he knew this was a necessary part of his life.

Remembering their night together nearly a month ago, the phantom of Seonghwa’s lips and hands on his bare skin, and his heart bursting at its seams, Yeosang let out a desperate little sound in the back of his throat, his own hands coming up to tug Seonghwa closer. 

Seonghwa let himself be guided forward by Yeosang until he crawled onto his lap, securing his thighs around Yeosang’s waist. They separated for a moment, staring at one another.

Seonghwa’s hair was somehow completely undone, even without Yeosang’s exploring hands running through it, and his cheeks were turning a red, and his eyes had taken the color of night, his black pupils had almost entirely swallowed the dark brown.

Yeosang swallowed. “ _Seonghwa_ ,” he murmured, though he didn’t have words to follow with. _By the Angel_ , he hoped what he felt could be conveyed through his touch, through his exhale when Seonghwa kissed him again.

“I know,” whispered Seonghwa, his lips gracing the shell of Yeosang’s ear. “I know.” He moved back, peering down at Yeosang, and readjusted on his lap.

Before they could get further into it, there was a sudden bang. They startled. Seonghwa jumped out of Yeosang’s lap and turned to look at the source of the noise: he must have accidentally kicked the table as an apple had rolled down from the fruit bowl onto a plate full with pieces of dark chocolate.

“Um…” Yeosang said intelligently. He felt suddenly very shy. “I think—I think we should not let the food go to waste.”

“You are right,” Seonghwa said, quickly sitting in his previous seat. He down his tea, which must have been still scolding hot, but he didn’t make any indication of it. He was blinking rapidly and his cheeks were bright pink. 

“But we could, ah,” Yeosang tried awkwardly and clumsily. He hesitated with the words now that they were no longer kissing, consumed by the need of one another. Why was it so difficult now? _To Hell with it_ , he thought, _I am in love_. “I want to kiss you again, afterwards. And I want to kiss when I wake up.” He looked down at his hands. “You asked me here to talk—about us. About the _Agape_ rune, I do feel the same. I am terrified, Seonghwa, but I do feel the same, and I do not want to ignore it.”

He heard Seonghwa inhale sharply. When he looked up, Seonghwa’s eyes were dark, but not with the previous desperation, it was different. They radiated deep love, a different kind of need. 

“If I am part of the Council, I know I cannot come to New York immediately, but eventually… I could. I could come live at the Institute, become part of Brooklyn’s Enclave. I could help better the Accords, after all we have a close relationship with the High Warlock of Queens, and Seoho, leader of a powerful vampire pack. We…” He faltered, his eyes downcast. “Sorry, I was getting carried away.”

“No, I—I agree. I can see that.”

“You can?”

Yeosang plucked a grape from the fruit bowl. “Yes. Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I suppose because it felt selfish of me. I know your home is in New York, but what is it that you want to do? Have you ever thought of traveling? You are old enough to stay at other Institutes.”

Yeosang shrugged. “I always thought it would be nice becoming Head of the International Institute someday. I have thought of traveling too. I have even thought of returning to Alicante to live with my uncle. There are many plans that have come to me, but none has ever been as important as one that would involve you, Seonghwa,” he confessed. It felt good to be straightforward with his thoughts and feelings. Seonghwa looked as if he’d been hit over the head. “If you are certain about living in New York one day, I am certain about staying there, and will follow the plans that I had envisioned for myself there.”

“I—I am not quite sure how to respond to that,” Seonghwa admitted. “I can never tell if you are quite mad or not.”

Yeosang cracked a smile. “Oh, by now you should know I am a little mad. It helps me keep my mind clear.”

Seonghwa shook his head, but he was smiling too. “We should not take any drastic decisions right now, we have some time to wait and choose later, but it is good to know that New York is an option—for us both.”

Yeosang hummed in agreement. “Well then, I really do want to try what you have cooked. It has been tempting me for quite a while now.”

It felt as if a thick tension had been lifted, some of their old playfulness weaving itself into their newfound relationship. For the first time in a long time, Yeosang felt certain and sure of what he wanted, in what direction he wanted his life to head, and whom he wanted to share his constant with.

“Surely.” Seonghwa stood up to fill their plates with the different delicacies he’d cooked. “I hope they taste good. I have to admit, it has been a while since I used a stove.” His smile was nervous.

“I am sure it will be scrumptious!”

Seonghwa’s nose scrunched up in embarrassment.

“Oh, shut it!”

Come morning, Yeosang woke up weightless, as if he was a feather being gently carried by a spring or summer breeze through a clear blue sky. No worries attached to his mind, no troublesome memories haunting him. It was a brief moment, only lasting for some seconds.

When he looked down at the warm body pressed to his, everything came back to him, all the events of the past months: his losses and his victories, the pain and the anger and the hopelessness, the new understanding of himself, the elation of kissing Seonghwa, the privilege of falling in love… 

As pleasant as being feather light had been, it wasn’t true. It wasn’t him and it wasn’t his life. He’d fought so hard, all of his life, but especially the past two months, and he’d endured so much. He wouldn’t give any of it to feel so light he could not be touched. He’d not come so far just to throw it all away.

“What are you thinking about?” Seonghwa asked in a sleepy voice. 

He was peering up at Yeosang through squinted eyes, his hair an absolute mess. Yeosang smiled absentmindedly. He propped himself up on his elbow and ran his free hand through Seonghwa’s hair. Seonghwa snuggled closer to him, his warm, naked skin melting with Yeosang’s.

“I was thinking that I want to forgive myself.”

Seonghwa stilled. His eyes were closed now, but there was a single tear sliding down his cheek, getting lost somewhere between his face and Yeosang’s chest. Seonghwa’s hand came up, curling around Yeosang’s waist to hold him.

“What time is it?” Seonghwa asked after a brief silence, his voice rough as the morning was still sticking to him.

Yeosang glanced out of the small window by Seonghwa’s bed, the curtains hiding the dark gray sky void of moon and stars as thick clouds hung over Alicante. He could see heaps of snow on the surrounding rooftops. 

“Most likely six or so. It is about to dawn.”

Seonghwa stretched out, then curled up right away, snuggling close to Yeosang. “I do not want to get up, it will mean you are leaving.”

Yeosang’s mouth twisted.

“You know I cannot stay.”

“I know, it was just wishful thinking…” He turned to lie on his back so he could look up at Yeosang. He reached out his hand, tracing Yeosang’s face: the slope of his cheekbones with his bright red birthmark accentuating it, the shape of his lips, his jawline and neck, and collarbones… “I will miss you greatly.”

Yeosang blushed, thinking of their previous night.

Seonghwa sputtered, smacking him lightly. “Not—Not just that,” he rushed out. “ _Everything_ about you.”

“Me too,” Yeosang admitted. “I will miss you dearly too.”

They kissed, chaste at first, turning deeper for some brief seconds, Yeosang’s heart burning as he felt Seonghwa’s fingers trail down his naked back. Then they split apart, their duties calling them.

Yeosang had to return to New York, he was meant to help Hongjoong in finding the Greater Demon, even if the warlock insisted he could do it alone. Yeosang felt obligated to help him. He wanted to reassure Irene that he was fine, that she could move on and accept the position as Consul without having to worry about him. Yeosang knew he was far too young to become Head of the International Institute, he’d have to wait for at least two years, someone else would take the position in the meantime; but he could prove through deeds and hard work that he was a suitable candidate.

Seonghwa had to stay in Alicante to grow into his new role as part of the Council. He was in the middle of helping his mother move out of Jinhyuk’s mansion, she could move in with a distant cousin of hers, while Seonghwa would stay in Brother Akoni’s old residence.

The two Shadowhunters made their way into the kitchen lazily. It was dark still, but the clouds were slowly dissolving.

The kitchen smelled of freshly brewed coffee—heavenly! Yeosang’s stomach rumbled loudly as he saw last night’s remnants scattered on the table in the living room. 

“Someone’s eager.” Seonghwa laughed.

Yeosang helped him put out plates, mugs, and saucers.

“Well, what can I do if you are such a great cook?”

“Oh, please, enough flattering me!” Seonghwa huffed out a laugh, embarrassed around the edge. “Just make sure you are not hungry when you cross the portal,” he said, then added, “but not full either.”

“Yes, yes, that perfect balance… Do not worry, I have traveled enough times through portals to know.”

Seonghwa bit the inside of his cheek. 

They sat at the table, enjoying their brisk breakfast, but the atmosphere around them was slowly growing tense. The impending goodbye weighted heavily on their shoulders. At least Yeosang still had some time to take a bath and get dressed. Perhaps Seonghwa could be persuaded into joining Yeosang in the bathtub—although it would be a very narrow and squeezed bath. 

“Yeosang,” Seonghwa said slowly, a pensive look on his face. “Thank you for coming here. I truly appreciate it. I was nervous you had forgotten about me when no answer came…”

“No, I—I was anxious to write to you, that the letter would end up in the wrong hands, and I wanted to tell you in person,” Yeosang said quickly, soothing Seonghwa’s wrinkled forehead with his words. “I could never forget about you.” He nervously played with the rings on his neck. “I do not have a ring to give to you, yet, but I am sincere in my affections for you.” He took in a stuttering breath. 

They met halfway, their kiss hot and lazy as sleep and the morning were still clinging to their skin and minds. Yeosang’s eyelids fluttered shut, his hands found Seonghwa’s face, he cupped it, drawing his cheekbones with his thumb. He caught a tear.

After the breakfast, Yeosang did manage to convince Seonghwa to take a bath together, although it was so uncomfortable that Seonghwa ended up wrapping a towel around his waist, and sat himself behind Yeosang. He began massaging Yeosang’s head, cleaning his long, tangled hair.

“I love your hair,” he murmured absentmindedly, running his fingers through it. 

Yeosang grinned, pleased, but his heart felt heavy in his chest. He couldn’t help thinking back to a painfully similar scene, after Hwanwoong’s death. He shook himself inwardly, he shouldn’t think of that, or feel guilty that he had survived and was experiencing a glimpse into a domestic sort of life with Seonghwa—something intangible, only a wish.

“Close your eyes,” Seonghwa told him. Yeosang obeyed, though usually when he closed his eyes all he saw were haunting and torn images. Seonghwa’s delicate fingers moved in circles around his face, practicing pressure on different points, brushed over his eyes ever so gently, and traced his lips as if they were sacred… 

Yeosang found himself relaxing, his mind slipping. He was conscious of his body floating in the warm water, of Seonghwa’s fingers massaging his face, and yet at the same time he felt like he was miles away.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d found himself this calm; utterly surrendered to Seonghwa’s hands.

He thought, faintly, this was _complete trust_. He’d never really allowed himself this, not even with Mingi or Hwanwoong or Irene. 

He understood now the _Agape_ rune, and his heart felt heavy and light, as he truly got the meaning of the unconditionality Seonghwa had handed him. His heart was a swirling storm of love and affection. 

He reached out his hand, blindly, toward his own face and took Seonghwa’s hand in his. He guided it to his lips, kissing his knuckles.

“ _Unconditional_ ,” he murmured, hoping Seonghwa knew what he was referring to.

An hour later, they stood at the threshold, each on one side of the door frame, and stared at one another. Neither wanted to part, to speak first, to move first…

“We will see each other again,” Seonghwa told him, resisting the urge to kiss Yeosang again under Idris’s gray sky, in the distance the glass towers were lit up by the first rays of sunshine. “I promise you, Yeosang.” He reached out his finger, passing it over the ring on Yeosang’s neck—together with the others—the _Agape_ rune engraved in it. “Have a safe travel home.”

Yeosang wanted to say more, but their brief and bittersweet goodbye had to suffice. Alicante was waking up. He squeezed Seonghwa’s hand once before he retreated, turning his back on the small house, and walking toward the tall glass spirals—the Gard—where his portal back to New York was waiting. 

Unconsciously, he ran his fingers over the rings at his neck, finding the one he’d been looking for without _actually_ looking, just by feeling the _Agape_ rune beneath his fingertips. Now that he was leaving Seonghwa again, for an undetermined amount of time, he needed to feel that it was there, and remember his heart was a mirror to Seonghwa’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, this is the last chapter for seongsang, but of course there will glimpses of them in the sequel ^^
> 
> the epilogue is finished already so it will follow soon!!
> 
> -jack💛


	18. Epilogue: The Vampire Leader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This isn’t strictly a Nephilim affair! This is about you too. About your losses, about the evil that has haunted us for well over a century. Are you sure you don’t want to get a personal _vendetta_ , my friend?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for everyone, if you celebrate christmas, i wish you merry christmas!! and for anyone else, i wish you really comforting holidays!!! i hope everyone is healthy and safe!! love you💛

**Seoul, November 7th 2019**

The vampire leader’s apartment was a museum of a kind: full of Nephilim relics that covered the shelves that were pushed against the four walls. Hongjoong liked to visit it, finding comfort in the many tales that it told—for most of which he had been present—but he wished his friend wouldn’t dwell in the past for so long. It was harmful to live in the past as an immortal being: the past was a vast ocean that spread out the more the years passed, the more people one let go, and the more hurt one went through. 

Hongjoong would know. He had lost _so many._

He cleared his throat, gaining the vampire leader’s attention, and walked over to the desk in the center of the room. There was a small cabinet that Hongjoong had insisted his friend get—for his sake as the vampire couldn’t drink. A collection of the finest alcoholic beverages lined the inside of it. They reminded him of jazzy tunes and a New York that was booming with parties upon parties and debauchery. He missed it sometimes.

“It’s good to have you back,” Hongjoong said. “A lot has happened since your leave.”

He heard his friend hum noncommittally. Hongjoong saw that the vampire was holding a couple of documents—letters—his eyes scanning over the words written on them. He knew them by heart, but Hongjoong knew how much they meant to him. They were the only remaining words of his dead friends. He always reread them when he came back from New York. It was a tradition.

“Don’t you want to know?” Hongjoong inquired, letting himself fall onto one of the seats by the desk. He had his eyebrows pulled up as he studied the vampire: his hair still blood red, glasses that he no longer needed resting atop his hair.

“Go ahead,” his friend said, slightly uninterested. It bothered Hongjoong.

This unattainable side of his friend, it protected him but it pulled him away from the world around him too. Hongjoong was desperate in trying to communicate with his friend; sometimes he felt clumsy even, which was very unlike himself.

“The Nephilim whose apartment you checked out, Aidan Magnus, is indeed involved in this matter, as we suspected,” he revealed, waiting for any reaction, but there was none. He considered throwing the glass across the room. “He is a descendant of Wallace Grant.” The vampire froze, the letters rustling in his hands. He finally looked up, his gaze meeting Hongjoong’s. “Park Jinhyuk and Wallace Grant’s descendants came back to haunt us. Just as Grant once promised us.” He shook his head, holding back an empty laugh. “I have yet to reveal this information to the Head of the Institute. I thought you should know first, decide how you would want to handle this. After all, this is much more our weight than theirs. It is a personal revenge.”

The vampire stood silently in between the shelves of his past, a broken expression on his face. He looked tired and hurt, his eyes dark. Hongjoong had seen that same expression over a century ago, when the Nephilim community had shamed Jung Yunho for being in love.

“What about that Greater Demon Seoho mentioned? Maluminse? He said it was summoned again.”

“We aren’t entirely sure of that. It appeared as an illusion, sending minions after Jung Wooyoung, Yeosang and Jinsoul’s descendant. I don’t know if Maluminse truly is among us again,” Hongjoong replied. Seoho had reported him about the events the previous night. It had been troubling to say the least, but this time they were much more prepared than they had been in 1899 and the years that had followed. “Regardless of whether Maluminse is back or not, we know of Aidan Magnus and we know he is here in Seoul. It appears Beomhyuk betrayed him, which explains why we found him dead. We could stop this evil, this time properly. We have everything we need and the assistance of the Institute of Seoul.”

“You know I don’t particularly fancy getting myself involved in Nephilim affairs anymore.”

Hongjoong let out a frustrated sigh. “This isn’t strictly a Nephilim affair! This is about you too. About your losses, about the evil that has haunted us for well over a century. Are you sure you don’t want to get a personal _vendetta_ , my friend?” Hongjoong asked, tipping his head back to finish his drink.

The vampire leader put the letters away in a golden box, which he delicately placed on one of the shelves. 

He was a Downworlder—a ‘vicious creature’ as some might have referred to him—but everything about him was gentle and soft, surrounded by a sad and nostalgic mist that never quite seemed to leave. The vampire leader wore his undead heart on his sleeve, it was easy to read him, to see he was a man that had suffered the loss of the love of his life. 

Hongjoong wanted to desperately change that.

“I suppose you are right,” the vampire leader muttered, resigned. “It’s just… After so much time of running and waiting, it feels surreal there truly could be an end to it.”

With a sigh the warlock sat up. “I know, but this is our chance to defeat this evil again—defeat it once and for all. We owe it to them. We survived so we could finish it.”

The vampire joined the warlock at the desk, sitting down elegantly. There was still a guarded look in his eyes, but Hongjoong had known him for long enough to see he was wavering in his decision to stay out of the Institute’s business.

“They helped you. They helped keeping your den safe. You owe them too,” Hongjoong insisted.

“Owe them,” he repeated with a scoff. “It’s part of the Accords, but I guess for old time sakes—for Yeosang and Jinsoul’s sake…” A complicated look crossed his face. “Has Miss Kwon said anything about my—my demand? About visiting Yunho’s grave?”

“She agreed,” Hongjoong said. “They’re not that bad,” he continued. “They remind me of you and your friends when I first met you in 1899: inquisitive and full of surprises.”

The vampire huffed out a short laugh before it became a torn mask of pain. 

“When do you suggest this meeting take place?”

“Once the sun sets, I’ll call her and let her know,” Hongjoong said, searching for his phone. He glanced at the vampire. “I know you’re still grieving him—and you claim you’re not ready yet—but you can’t keep hiding here, away from the world and swim in this endless pain. It’s not good.” Hongjoong moved his hand forward to place it on the vampire’s. “I don’t want to watch you disappear. I promise you, life is worth living, Mingi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aahhh firstly thank you to everyone that has read the entire thing that MEANS A LOT TO ME!!!!! I know this one was very plot heavy and long, so it just means a lot that you read it and i sincerely hope you could enjoy it!!
> 
> Of course this isn't the ending!! The second part of the series is called _The Golden Balance_ , which will focus heavily on the 2019 storyline, but with some glimpses into the past to see how their stories really end!! It might take a while before I start uploading it, but it shouldn't be too long! 
> 
> Again thank you so much for sticking through this!! I tried out a lot of new things here and its been a tough one, but im really glad i wrote this and i appreciate every one of you that has read this and cherished it!💛💫
> 
> -jack💛


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